


Home, with you

by ShedidTHAT



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: A historical setting of sorts that is completely made up, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, Because I can't be bothered to research and have no time for accuracy, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-04-19 21:46:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 41,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShedidTHAT/pseuds/ShedidTHAT
Summary: Rittenhouse and Mason, two families both alike in dignity that have battled for decades, have found peace.The price for that peace? An arranged marriage.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired (heavily) by 'Still Star Crossed' by Melinda Taub, I wanted to do a good ol' proper AU that has literally nothing to do with canon in any sense. So this is completely made up (I'm sorry, I'm too lazy to research and write a time period accurately, hence the weird Shakespearian/GOT style time period- Professor Preston would not be impressed) and not too planned. I'm doing this for fun, so do let me know if you want to read more! 
> 
> Btw- Lucy and Wyatt are a lot younger here, around early twenties

The Rittenhouse family was crumbling, they knew this but did not acknowledge it. Their wealth diminishing, their allies falling to the wayside, their network failing. There was two choices for Benjamin Cahill, the current leader of Rittenhouse. He could carry on, keep all the young men (whose numbers were dwindling by the day) at his disposal out in the streets battling Mason’s legions, or he could step aside and stand down, allowing the Mason House to take over the Rittenhouse legacy, ending their centuries of power.

A third option presented itself in the form of a missive from the one and only Connor Mason, the richest man in the lands and Benjamin’s biggest rival. Taking the letter from the servant, Benjamin dismissed him with a flick of the wrist, not daring to take his eyes off the paper in front of him.

He read the letter, once, twice, and then a third time. Benjamin sat in his chair by the fire for a moment, half considering throwing the letter into the flames, but he held himself still. This...suggestion could be the answer to his problems. Rittenhouse might not be lost completely.

But it meant getting her and bringing her into all this… He sent her as far from all this fighting for a reason and to drop her in the middle of it…

Benjamin looks down at the letter, and decides at once. There was no time for considering, pondering, or debating with the other elder members of Rittenhouse. He knew this was the best option for them.

So for the sake of the family, for the future of Rittenhouse- he reaches for his quill and signs away his daughter’s hand in marriage with a simple reply: ‘Yes’.

\---

Lucy Preston was a slight petite girl who would had forgotten who she was. Not that she had forgotten her identity, she knew who she was, but rather, she forgot where she came from. These past few years had been blissful and drenched in sweet ignorance. She didn’t have the weight of Rittenhouse on her shoulders, she didn’t have to worry about the constant judgemental stares, the thinly veiled threat of violence around every corner, and her mother had gotten slack about her lessons.

Instead of parroting her own family tree, Lucy had begun learning others’, going from family to family, from farmers to merchants, collecting stories and tales passed down from generation to generation. She found this was her favourite past time, transcribing the tales that could have easily have been forgotten.

These past few years were paradise and now they had run their course. Lucy was returning back into the Rittenhouse fold. Unannounced, her father’s men arrived at the small cottage he had hidden her and her mother away all those years ago. They weren’t very forthcoming either, simply handing her mother a small note (which didn’t say anything other than an order to come home), and then escorting them out to the awaiting carriage.

“Oh Lucy, I can’t believe we’re going home” her mother gushes, looking out the carriage window at the passing countryside. She looks over at Lucy and smiles, “I’m so glad we can finally be who we truly are.”

Lucy doesn't respond, simply smiles tightly at her mother, her fingers fiddling with the mass of papers on her lap. Her mother tried to convince her to leave them, to not bother taking anything with them (‘we’ll have everything we need at home’) But Lucy couldn’t give up the stories that she had spent so long collecting. She refused to forget her years in the cottage. She didn’t want to give up those memories of happiness.

It took several days to reach the city, but they were there far sooner than Lucy would have liked. Her mother, on the other hand, was ecstatic. She was still her composed and restraint self, but Lucy could tell she was sitting a bit taller, her smile a bit wider. Lady Carolyn Preston was made for the court and the roles that came with it.

Lucy was not.

As they approached the city, a knot of apprehension tightened in Lucy’s gut. When they left this place, it was in the dead of night, weaving through the twisting streets to avoid the fighting. Now the city felt bigger, more imposing. She looks out the window at the passing homes and markets, at the familiar fountains. This was her home at one stage, but it feels more like she was stepping onto a battlefield. She spots a few ominously stained paving stones, but there is no time to ponder over the stories behind them.

The carriage weaves down increasingly familiar streets and the dread in her stomach does not subside in the slightest as they make the final pull up the grand hill. Taking deep breaths, in and out, Lucy looks up at the imposing building before her. It was ancient, the product of her mother’s great, great, great (give or take) grandfather- the original Rittenhouse. The house is old, crumbling in some sections, but proud that it has shaped the countryside around it. 

That was until Mason and his riches came and suddenly, Rittenhouse was facing a loss of land, wealth, and even worse, prestige. Lucy doesn’t remember when the fighting started, it was before she had even begun walking, but she does remember the constant fear and the stench of death in the air. Then came the escape in the middle of the night, and the blissful ignorance of a countryside too far away from now. It was hard to believe it was only a handful of years ago. It felt like a lifetime to her.

At least the gardens encompassing the house had not been lost to the battle. She could spot her mother's rose garden from the carriage window.

They pull up to the main entrance, a wide set of entrance steps standing between them and the front door, before which stood a man she had no happy memory of.

“Shoulders back Lucy,” her mother softly whispers, gently tucking a piece of hair behind her ears, “smile sweetheart, we’re home.” With one last encouraging smile, her mother steps out of the carriage with more grace than any royal could muster. Lucy had forgotten this side of her mother.

Holding back the sigh that threatened to erupt, Lucy not so graciously steps out of the carriage and began the ascent back into the Rittenhouse fold.


	2. Chapter 2

“She’s not doing it.” Lucy’s mother stands in front of the fireplace, donned in a regal red dress, ornate in gold that glittered in the firelight. She’s a flame, alight in a majesty that the fire only highlights. Her anger towards Benjamin adds to the image. Carolyn is furious, glaring at Lucy’s father.  

“It’s the only solution-”

“What happens once you’re gone?” Carolyn fires back, “we hand Mason our family home, our land, the entirety of the Rittenhouse history?”

“It was this or we fight ourselves to death!” Benjamin runs a hand down his face. He looks a lot older, Lucy notes. From her seat near her mother, she can see the wrinkles settling into his once clear bright face. “And besides you never gave me the son we needed.”

Ignoring his quiet statement, Carolyn  begins, “Lucy was meant to-” Benjamin cuts her off with a quick harsh glance. He then turns his full attention onto the girl- no, young woman- sitting next to the fire. His Lucy all grown up. He would simply be giving her the final push into womanhood.  

“Lucy,” she looks up, keeping her hands in her lap. She had been avoiding his gaze since he first broke the news. Marriage. She would be marrying someone from Mason. One of those men who haunted her nightmares, who kept her locked up in this place, who killed her cousins… A man who was part the source of her father’s rage.

She stays quiet. Too afraid  that if she opens her mouth she might scream.

“I’m meeting Mason tomorrow to finalise the details.” He looks down at her, his eyes assessing her for something. Lucy knew from experience that moments like these, it was best to stay absolutely still and silent. “You’ll be the key to ending this violence. You’ll be saving us Lucy, do not forget that.”

That said, he turns and leave,  not bothering to wish his daughter or his wife good night. Lucy remains perched on the chair, her hands still clenched in one another.

Carolyn’s demeanour softens slightly into the mother she was in the cottage; her mother away from the ghosts that lurk in between the walls.

Once she sees this shift in her mother, Lucy begins to cry, her first outburst since the men came to take them home. Carolyn gently pulls Lucy’s head towards her waist, her fingers smoothing down Lucy’s hair (but carefully avoiding the somewhat painful updo a maid had pulled it into).

“Ssh, ssh, sweetheart…” her mother kept one hand firm on her daughter’s back, the other carefully stroking her head, “it’s going to, it’ll be ok.”

Lucy let her mother’s soothing words wrap her in a sense of security, a comfort she needed now more than ever.

 

\---

 

Wyatt Logan wasn’t really listening to anything that was being discussed. He’s tired, having been out most of the night on watch. Command had put more men on watch than was needed- things had gotten quiet (too quiet for their liking). This morning it was a struggle to rise, and now to sit through all this chatter, Wyatt’s fighting a losing battle.

After another slow, prolonged blink, he realises that Mason is fixing him a quizzical look. Giving himself a little shake, he tries to listen in more keenly to whatever it was some of the men were arguing over.

“They’ve obviously run low on supplies and men, we need to strike now,” the tall man turns to Mason, who in turn, turns to his military commander, Wyatt’s Grandfather, Sherwin.

“We need to be sure this isn’t some sort of-” Sherwin pauses searching for the right words, his lined hard hand drawing quick circles in the air for the right phrase. Wyatt offers, “Trojan horse?”

“Yes, thank you Wyatt,” Sherwin says, before turning back to Mason continuing, “we need to know the full story Mason.”

“Full story?” Mason asks, his face the picture of innocence. Sherwin and Mason battle silently for a moment before Mason turns to the rest of the table. “Actually, gentlemen, we can hold off the attack,” with a smug smile he looks around the room at the confused looks of his most senior advisors. Mason stands up from the table, speaking as he walks to the tall window looking out over his land.

“We are nearing the end of this battle. Our streets will no longer be filled with blood and battalions, peace is upon us.” He stands for a moment, his back to the room, and then turns to face them. Sometimes Wyatt forgets Mason’s gentility, his nobility, it was in full force at this moment. He must have practiced in front of a mirror.

“Peace is within our grasp. Just this morning, Cahill and I met to begin the process towards it.” At that, there is uproar: men shouting, arguing, questioning. However, in all this noise, Grandpa Sherwin looks at Wyatt, his face failing to hide a sadness Wyatt can’t understand. Before he can ask his grandfather, Mason raises a hand, and addresses the quieting room. “All will soon be revealed. However, I need time to work those kinks out. You are all dismissed.”

There’s grumbling but everyone begin to make their way out of the room. Wyatt stands to leave, considering whether he’ll be able to get a nap in before his sparring session later this afternoon, but is stopped by Mason. “Wyatt, a word.”

Oh no. This can’t be good. He sit on the nearest chair and looks to his grandfather for guidance. Sherwin says nothing, but his glance is...remorseful? Wyatt frowns at him, wondering why he looks so regretful, and why he’s still here at all.

The last man leave the room, closing the door behind him with an ominous bang.  Mason remains standing, his hands bracing the tall dark oak chair. Wyatt looks between a now suspiciously quiet Mason and a saddened Sherwin. The silence is deafening after all the comotion following Mason’s announcement. Wyatt has enough of the tension, and cuts to the chase, “so, what’s the price for peace?”

“You.” Mason’s voice is crisp and clear, but Wyatt isn’t sure he had heard him right.

“Me? Sorry, what?”

“You, Wyatt, are the price for peace, so to speak.”

“Mason, you said you’d be tactful about this,” Sherwin sharply warns Mason.

“What, I was only answering his question. Anyway, we might as well just spit it out. No point tilly-tallying and all that,” Mason turns his full attention back to a still confused Wyatt. “You are going to marry a Rittenhouse girl and be the link between the two families, ending this godforsaken war for once and for all.”

There is a small pause- nothing more than a second- before Wyatt jumps up and asks, “Do I not get a say in this at all?” Mason doesn’t reply quick enough before Wyatt asks another question, “why me? Why not Rufus- he’s your nephew- he’s more important to this House than I am, surely-”

"Rufus is already betrothed, an important engagement in its own right. Regardless, you are important to this House,” Mason gestures to Sherwin, “you will take your grandfather’s place as leader of my military, and become a chief advisor. A marriage between you and the only child of the head of Rittenhouse will cement an everlasting relationship between the two houses, and bring us peace.”

Mason’s voice commands authority and brokers no questions, but Wyatt is desperate and turns to the man he trusts more than anyone else on this earth, his grandpa Sherwin. “Did you agree to this? Don’t I get a say at all?”

“Wyatt, you need to do this. This war has gone on too long, far too long. Too many have been lost.” His grandfather is quiet, his eyes cannot hide his regret. Wyatt looks between Mason and Sherwin, and sit back down on his chair. Slumping into it, he realises he doesn’t have a say in any of this at all. He has no choice, no option but to obey. He os a soldier at the end of the day, not the great advisior Mason claims he will be one day. He does what he is told. Nothing more nothing less. 

“What do I need to do?”

“Nothing, not yet at least,” Mason’s joy at Wyatt’s reluctant acceptance is a bit of an insult, but Wyatt expects it. Mason has gotten his way and now things are moving along. Mason is anything, if not results driven. “Myself, your grandfather and some of the most senior Rittenhouse members will arrange the marriage contract. Everything will be arranged, all you need to do is turn up on the day and say your ‘I do’.”

Wyatt sit for a moment, letting the news roll over him. He will be getting married to a Rittenhouse girl. Rittenhouse. The family he had hates, who killed his comrades, who he helped plot against. He is marrying one of them.

“I didn’t realise there was a daughter, an actual heir”

“He hid her,” Sherwin answers, “hid her for the last couple of years, out with some tenants in the middle of nowhere. She should be your age.”

There is nothing more to say. Wyatt’s fate is sealed. At least she isn’t going to be an old crone. He would take his blessings where he can.

“You’ll meet her next week at your bethrolment ball. Now, gentlemen, apparently I have a wedding to plan.” With that Mason leaves the room, leaving Wyatt and his grandfather sitting opposite each other at the table. 

“Wyatt, I’m sorry. We have no choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“We’ve been fighting for so long, we’re all losing sight of why we’re fighting. Each side is losing too many men.”

Wyatt snaps, with Mason gone his composure is cracking, “You heard, Rittenhouse are mere weeks away from breaking. We could have won.”

“At what cost?”

Wyatt huffs, running a hand through his hair and down his face, and quietly asked, “Why didn’t you ask me?”

“Wyatt, sometimes you just have to jump in and do it- sometimes you don’t have time to think things over.” His grandfather run a hand over his face, “No point us moping about it now- the contracts have been signed and agreements are in motion. You’re bringing about peace to a place that hasn’t seen it in some time. You should be proud of that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So- we see Wyatt at last. Hopefully where each character sits in the world makes sense. (Gonna flag now that not all Timeless characters will be making an appearance, but i'm trying to work in as many as I can!) 
> 
> Like and review etc!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am terrible at sticking to a proper upload schedule- here's another chapter!

The week had flown. News had spread and seemingly everyone and anyone had tried to get an invitation (or find some way in) to the ball. This was beyond Wyatt’s capability. He’s a soldier, not some gentleman who does nothing but sleeping and dancing at balls. Pulling at the collar of his doublet, he began to mentally map out escape routes- through the corridors, out the windows, how quickly he could rusle a horse and high tail it out of here.

As if he was summoned by Wyatt’s treacherous thoughts, Grandpa Sherwin appears by his side, looking out at the ever expanding crowds that had taken over Mason’s lawn. The nobility were here in full force, celebrating the end of battle between Mason and Rittenhouse, and were donning their very best garments, and had already showered Wyatt and his bride-to-be with gifts that are probably worth more than he could muster in a year.

Well, he could probably now.

He has become a sort of/not quite son to Mason. Not in a familial sense, but more so in a financial. He was being put on less watches, attending more meetings with Sherwin, and he was given a seemingly bottomless allowance in lieu of his pay. He is now above all his fellow comrades, and now officially had a place at Mason’s table.

Things are changing so fast, too fast. He isn’t ready for any of this. Wyatt definitely didn’t want to go down there and socialise with a bunch of people who, a mere week ago, would have considered him invisible, no more than a mere piece of furniture in the room.

“There’s someone you need to meet,” Sherwin commented, looking down at the crowds with them. “Before this all happens, before all these people get their show.”

“Who?”

Wyatt isn’t given an answer, his grandfather simply walking away. Wyatt follows, he did that a lot lately, following Grandpa Sherwin around like a lost puppy. He’s desperate to find his footing in his new role as protege, as peace bringer. They weave through the corridors, ducking around harried servants and lost royals. Soon they arrive at the door of one of Mason’s personal parlours. It’s the green one, or perhaps the purple one, Wyatt isn’t sure, all he knows is that Mason has more money than sense.

Sherwin opens the door and gestures for Wyatt to go inside, which he does.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back”

Before Wyatt can object, Sherwin closes the door and locks it. Wyatt can’t help be a tad insulted, surely his own grandfather can trust him to stay put for a few minutes.

Actually, he is probably right to lock the door.

Turning to face the room, the purple parlour, Wyatt is again reminded of his privilege of being a favourite of Mason. Mason is too rich for his own good. The room is decorated with plump purple seats, rugs of various violet hues thrown on the floor, long gauze curtains of lilac draped around the circular room, cocooning the inhabitants in a purple haze. It’s hideous, if Wyatt is honest. Mason is a man who got bored and these coloured rooms are a fun two week project (well, they took longer than that, but Mason had spent a surprising two weeks attention on them).

Wyatt stands in the purple room for a moment, considering whether or not the curtains surrounding him will catching fire from the various candles (a contrasting dark plum) dotted around the room. After another couple of minutes, he goes back to the door to try open it. He can’t stay locked up in this room all night, no matter if it was Grandpa Sherwin who put him there. There probably wasn’t anyone for him to meet. Sherwin knows his grandson well. He knew Wyatt would bolt, given half the chance.

There is a commotion on the other side of the room, a door opening and closing, and fists slamming on the closed door. A voice, feminine and angry, yells out, “Let me out of here! I- I shouldn’t be treated like this!”

Wyatt steps away from his door, and parts the curtain to enter back into the purple sanctum. Across the room he can see a figure battling with the door, she’s more panicked than angry, he realises. He watches as the silhouette steps away from the door. He holds his breath, forcing his body to be absolutely still.

He isn’t expecting her to take a run at the door. Her efforts are unsuccessful and send her rebounding, tripping over her own feet, through a parting between the curtains, and into the room. Her foot catches on one of those ugly violet rugs and instinctively, Wyatt reaches out to catch her.

Grabbing her by the shoulders, he stops her fall, and is face to face with the mysterious woman. His mind is suddenly filled with one thought; she’s pretty.

Very pretty.

She smaller than him, a couple of inches between them. Overall, she’s quite petite, slight and unassuming. But it’s her face that captures his attention; big brown eyes framed with thick lashes, and eyebrows currently pulled into a slight confused frown. Wyatt holds onto her a beat longer than necessary. But she doesn’t pull back either. 

\---

 Lucy is being led down a series of corridors by an old man she did not know and did not trust. However, when he came asking if he could take her somewhere, her father gave his consent with a quiet quick nod. So she follows this strange old man, who keeps a sword at his side and wears expensive clothing. He leads her through the maze of Mason’s home with a relaxed easy that doesn’t help Lucy’s nerves. She can’t stop twisting and playing with the fabric of her light golden gown, her palms sweaty and her gut tight. She has no idea what was going on.

In fact, this past week she had no idea what was going on. Blindly, Lucy had followed her mother through the motions of dress fittings and revision lessons on manners and court rules. She had done everything right without complaint, but really she wasn’t there. Lucy was ready to scream and run for the hills.

The old man gestures to a door and quietly tells her to wait inside. Naively she does as she is told, knowing her parents rage would not be worth any fuss she kicks up. However, once she hears the click of a lock, those odds are thrown out the window. The door is too big for her to bust it down but she gives it a go anyway.

Lucy knows that she has as much grace and balance as a blind one footed goose, and really she should know better, but she throws all her weight at the door. It pushes right back. Her new dress doesn’t help matters, longer than those she had worn in the countryside. She trips and begins to fall. She tries to twist, to put out her hands to break her fall. Before she can brace herself to meet the purple rug, her shoulders are enveloped by two large and steady hands.

She looks up and her gaze is met by two bright blue eyes. Blinking, Lucy begins to take in the rest of him. The man before her is dressed not so much in the fashionable sense, but still in respectable well made clothing that denoted, in less opulent methods, wealth and power. He was handsome, there was no denying that. His face is young but old enough to grow stubble, perhaps he is her own age.  They stand there, for minutes or for hours Lucy isn’t sure.

Eventually, Lucy’s current situation catches up with her and she pulls back from the stranger. He seems to come back to himself too, pulling himself together. A military man, Lucy thinks briefly, glancing at the sword at his hip, before asking, in a more panicked tone than she would like, “do you know how to get out of here?” 

“I’ve been trying the door behind me, ma’am, but it’s locked I’m afraid” he answers. Lucy forgets herself when she snaps back, “we look the same age you don’t need to call me ma’am.” She freezes as soon as it slides out of her mouth, feeling her face redden. She glances over at the blonde stranger, who just smirks in response.

Oh goodness.

She has to turn away from him, lest she starts staring, again. Flustered, she turns to face the sheer lilac curtains. Frowning, Lucy begins to take in the rest of the room. It’s as if an aubergine has thrown up: purple of all hues thrown on every surface, from cushion to couch, to rug to curtains. There’s no coherency to the room, save for the slight connecting thread of ‘purple’. The stranger notes her confusion and chuckles softly, “Yeah, it’s a bit much.”

“It’s certainly…. Attention grabbing.” Lucy concedes, pulling aside the sheer curtain once more to reveal the door. She looks over her shoulder at the man who is now patting himself down for something. “Do you know how to get out of here?”

“I just-” he replies, he bends over and pulls a dagger from his boot, in an incredibly casual manner, as if everyone should carry their weapons in their shoes. Lucy can only watch on, confused and intrigued all at once. Moving towards her, he pauses to look down at her. Lucy stares up, holding his stare, greedily memorising his face. He then smiles down at her and Lucy is sure that her knees are going to give way, he softly asks, “excuse me”.

Dear Lord above, is she really turning into such a mess at the sight of the first handsome face she sees. Apparently so. She blushes (again) and moves out of the way, hoping her feet don’t catch on the lumps of purple scattered about the room. He moves past her and towards the door. There, he kneels and places his knife between the door handle.  Lucy, curious once more, goes to stand behind him, watching as he skillfully wiggles the knife, while twisting the door handle. Then there’s a click, and the door unlocks.

Lucy can’t help the small gleeful squeal that erupts out of her, her hands clapping at his feat. He smiles down at her and pushes open the door with a sweeping dramatic gesture.

“Ma’am”

\---

Wyatt doesn’t stop his smile at her squeal and applause. He can’t stop smiling at her if he tried. She is adorable. She is gorgeous and Wyatt is seriously considering asking her if she can jump out of a window with him and leave this ball and the engagement behind. He has no idea who she is, this pretty young woman. She has to be nobility, what with a dress and posture like that. But her untamed emotion hints at being at the edges of society, on the cusp between upper and middle class. She’s like him, on the edge of it all.

Except he would be dragged right into the centre of it tonight with his engagement being made official.

His mood flattens. He watches as the mysterious girl stealthily (or at least her attempt to) moves into the hallway, looking left and right for anyone who might see them leave the room. He follows, more casually, knowing that this wing of this house is less used on a usual day, and is closed off anytime the house is open to guests.

“Do you know how to get back to the party from here?” she asks, turning around to face him.

“I think so…” Wyatt does, he’s known these corridors since he was a boy, but she doesn’t need to know that. In this moment he’s just some guy she got locked in a room with. He isn’t the so called ‘martyr of Mason’ as his comrades have taken to calling him, nor is he the protégé of his revered Grandfather. He’s just some guy who can’t stop staring at this pretty girl.

“Great! I always seem to get lost…”

Wyatt begins to lead the way, clutching his sword hilt in one hand, casually dangling the other. He’s desperate to not look bothered, to not reveal the slight butterflies in his stomach. As they leave the purple parlour gladly behind them, Wyatt is suddenly desperate to know more about her.

“So,” oh god, surely he could think of a better opener than that, “you from here?” Wow a real charmer, a proper casanova. He sounds worse than a school boy with a crush This woman, this Lady, is surely due a better openener than that.

“No, not really.” She pauses, scrunching her face in thought for a moment, “well, I just moved back from far away…” She drifts off for a moment, her face saddened and Wyatt immediately regrets asking. However, this does not last long as she quickly turns to him and asks, “and you? Where are you from?”

“I figured, would have remembered you if you were from around here,” Wyatt pauses admiring the blush that settles across her cheeks, and wonders what else he can do to form it, before answering, “I’m from here, grew up in this hou -town, in this town.” Wyatt keeps it as vague as she does, or at least as vague as he can help it. This town is all he has known, no denying that.

“Wow, I couldn’t imagine growing up here…” Her voice trails off as she gestures to the large house. She doesn’t continue her sentiment as the noise of the party begins to gain volume. They both slow down to the edge of the corridor, coming to a stop at its entrance. The sound of strings singing, glasses clattering, and people chattering fills the space between them.

They stand on the edge of their true selves. Lucy steps back into the dark corridor for a moment. She indulges herself this moment with a handsome stranger. He turns his head to look at her, the candle light capturing his blue eyes. Goodness, she’s gone.

“I never got your name?” He asks low, taking a step closer. Lucy stays still, not daring to breath out of turn. “I never gave it.” Her reply is lower, more breathy than she had intended. He smiles down at her, “ok, but,” he picks up her hand, “you better save me a waltz”. He kisses her hand, and Lucy is pretty sure she’s going to melt into the floor right now.

He holds her hand for longer than polite society would deem acceptable. Smiling down at her she can see a slight blush on his fair face, and is glad she’s not the only one slightly flustered.

And then he’s gone, leaving her to their shadowy corridor. Lucy looks down at her hand, where she can still feel the echo of his kiss lingering. With a deep breath (or three) she pulls her head back into the moment, and pulls her shoulders back. Tall and proud, like a true Rittenhouse, she leaves behind the blissful moment of anonymity and back into her unforgiving reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo- let me know what you think of the first meeting, probably one of my favourite bits to write!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and Kudos and what not thus far- here's another chapter!

For a few wonderful minutes after he left the corridor and strode out into the main ballroom, Wyatt felt on top of the world. He didn’t have a name, didn’t have a clue who she was, but he’d be damned if he’d forget her. He wanders into the ballroom without paying too much attention to those around him, until he hears his own name.

“Wyatt!” It’s the only warning he gets before being pulled into a hug by Rufus, Connor’s nephew. It’s been months since he’s seen him, having gone off to woo his now fiancée, and convince her parents that a match with Mason’s heir was something they should want for their daughter. He was very successful in both endeavors.

“Rufus! When did you get here?”

“Oh not too long- but enough about me,” Rufus smirks at Wyatt, “you are getting married.”

“Don’t remind me”

“C’mon! The Wyatt Logan finally getting hitched.”

“You say that as if I have some sort of reputation”

“There’s going to be a bevy of women mourning the loss of Wyatt”

Wyatt gave Rufus a quick playful punch. He didn’t need that sort of talk going around, as sarcastic as it is. That’s the problem with these elites, they hear one thing and grow it into a scandal. The last thing Wyatt wants is a scandal. Well, if he sees that girl again he might make one himself.

“So,” Wyatt turned to Rufus, his turn to wear a teasing grin, “when you going to introduce me to your bride.”

Wyatt was surprised by Rufus’ sudden bashfulness, “Oh yeah, Jiya’s…. Jiya’s great.” Wyatt can only be happy for his friend. He grew up with Rufus, he knew the pressure he was under. While he didn’t take to battle planning as much as Mason would have liked, he found other ways to demonstrate his intelligence, working on potions and helping tenants find new farming solutions. Then the news dropped of the engagement. Wyatt was concerned for the man he grew up with, but seeing Rufus so obviously head over heels, he couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’ll introduce you, I think she’s helping her parents with something…” Rufus turns around, looking for the familiar face he has come to know and love so much. With attention away from him, Wyatt looks around too, hoping for a pair of bright brown eyes. Instead he meets the stern glare of Christopher.

The small woman marches over to Wyatt and Rufus, and instantly Wyatt feels like a child about to be told off for something he didn’t do. Christopher has that affect, her concern is the efficient running of the household, and anything in the way of that was a problem to be dealt with at once, including young boys who liked to get into mischief. While Wyatt and Rufus had grown up and moved on, the need to stand taller and look innocence could never leave when Christopher was about.

“Logan, Lord Mason is looking for you,” Christopher turns to Rufus, “and you too. Now. Chop, chop!” With a swift hand movement, Christopher herds them to the upstairs room which overlooks the festivities below. There was a small group of people milling about.

He recognises Benjamin Cahill instantly,  tall and pale, standing like he has a pole stuck up his ass. His wife, Carolyn, is recognisable by the wealth of her gown. She’s opulent and powerful, everything the Rittenhouse family stood for; centuries of power ran through her veins. Next to the fireplace stand Mason and Sherwin. Everyone looked uncomfortable and no one wants to be here.

“Finally,” Cahill announces once he sees Wyatt enter the room.

“Wyatt, I’m sure you know Lord Cahill, and his wife the Lady Carolyn.” Mason begins waving his hands towards his guests. Wyatt bows, not too deeply, but enough so he won’t cause trouble. Now his role as ‘Martyr of Mason’ has begun. He won’t rock the boat, but he certainly won’t act happy to be here.

“Well at least he’s handsome, I’ll give you that Conor.” Carolyn announces to the room, inspecting Wyatt as a farmer inspects a cow at the market. Wyatt frowns, but says nothing, his Grandpa shooting him a quick look before he could even think of a reply.

“Where’s Lucy?” Mason asks, ignoring Carolyn’s comment.

“Here! Sorry I was-”

Wyatt doesn’t hear the rest of her reply. Out of the shadows emerges the beautiful girl from the purple parlour. The girl from out of town. The woman who blushes easily. The woman whose name he couldn’t get.

He has it now. She is the Rittenhouse Princess. She is the one he is being forced to marry.

Wyatt isn’t sure what he needs more: a stiff drink or to get sick.

She finally looks up at him and freezes. They stand there for seconds or for hours, looking at each other in shock. Apparently no one else in the room picks up on the moment of recognition and the introductions continue.

“Wyatt Logan, Lady Lucy, Lady Lucy, Wyatt Logan” Mason flaps his hand between the two of them. “Now, introductions are done, we can present them to the adoring crowd below and cement this deal.”

“Hold on Mason,” Cahill walks over towards Lucy and places his hands on her shoulders, “we haven’t finalised the treaty for the riverbank farms”

“I thought we agreed,” Mason pinches his forehead, a sure sign of a debate brewing, “you will be taking the western side, I shall take the eastern”

“So you get the more fertile side? I don’t think so Mason-” Cahill’s grip on Lucy tightens and she flinches. But Cahill’s argument is stopped in its tracks by Carolyn, who gracefully takes a step in front of Lucy, between Cahill and Mason.

“We shall decide those details tomorrow, the marriage will go ahead regardless. Everyone knows it is going ahead. This ball is a mere formality at this stage.” She levels a look at Mason and then at Cahill, “this will go ahead without issue,” and then she throws a look at Wyatt, “and without objection.”

With that she departs the room, throwing a glance at Cahill and Lucy. Cahill follows after, whispering something in Lucy’s ear before he departs. She freezes at whatever he says, but lets out a shaky nod.

Mason steps away from the fireplace, and makes his way to the door, “let’s leave the happy couple to get acquainted before their big debut.”

Rufus frowns but follows, clapping a sympathetic hand on Wyatt’s back before he leaves. Sherwin follows Mason, and calls out as he closes the door, “we’ll send Christopher up for you.” This time he does not lock the door. Wyatt is left alone with who he thought was a girl like him. Turns out she is just the enemy.

“When were you going to tell me who you are?” Lucy immediately asks, crossing her arms. The frown that he would have said is adorable, now just aggravates him.

“I could ask the same of you Princess,” his anger simmers beneath the surface, waiting for something he can get his teeth into.

“You trapped me there-”

“I had nothing to do with that”

“Oh this must be so fun for you,” she takes a deep breath, more so to calm herself down than to battle tears that Wyatt expected to fall. “Lock a girl in a room, flirt with her maybe have a little fun, only to unveil yourself as the monster she’s going to have to marry.”

“Monster? Me- Princess, your family background isn’t so squeaky clean either”

“Don’t call me princess”

Wyatt is vaguely aware of the orchestra below slowing their music to a stop, and the chatter calming down. But he doesn’t take his eyes off her.

“Got no defence for the great Rittenhouse?”

“Don’t.” Her voice is strained, her face barely hiding an ill concealed pain. “I-”

Before Lucy can finish her sentence, Christopher opens the door. Her face brokering no nonsense, even Lucy knows not to try anything.

“You two ready?” she asks.

“As ready as we’ll ever be” Wyatt huffs heading for the door. Christopher, however, throws him a look, brow arched at his tone of voice. He is never going to be more than a precocious seven year old in her eyes.

He gets to the door and realises Lucy is still standing in the middle of the room, looking out at the balcony just beyond them. They can hear Mason making a speech. It’s long, but humorous, as always.  She looks terrified.

Gruffly, Wyatt calls out to her, “We haven’t got all day”. She jumps and scuttles over, taking his arm with reluctance. Wyatt feels her take a deep shaky breath, and then pulls her along out of the room and down the steps.

\---

Lucy is trying her best not to bolt. She clings to Wyatt’s arm more than she’d have liked. In fact she rather not have to take his arm at all. But her father’s voice rings in her head; ‘don’t you dare ruin this’’.

So, she holds on and presents the unified front her mother had instructed her to do.

They are going to marry and unify the two most powerful houses in the land. They represent a future of prosperity, victory, and peace, her father had said. But she can’t stop shaking. She doesn’t want to be here, she doesn’t want to marry a man who represents all those things she was taught to hate, to fear.

He is a murderer, that is certain. He reeks of military stiffness, of obeying orders and plunging the dagger without question. He is like a walking statue next to her, the arm she clings onto wasn’t welcoming, only a formality.

And to think a mere, what, half hour ago? Only half an hour ago she met this man and was struggling not to blush, desperately trying to come across as flirty instead of completely tongue tied, trying not to crumple into a heap on the ground just because he asked her for a dance. Now, he is getting his dance, but not with the anonymous girl from the purple parlour.

Lucy is suddenly aware of all the eyes on her, pulling out of her own thoughts by the happy applause of the crowd greeting them at the end of the stairs. She stumbles slightly as she comes back to herself, her foot catching on her heavy ornate golden gown. Wyatt pauses for a moment, letting her catch herself on his arm, and then continues to pull her down the stairs.

As far as she can see, there’s miles of people trying to get a glimpse of them. The gardens have been transformed into an outdoor ballroom of sorts, candles lining pathways, a dance floor mapped out with flowers and stone slabs. It’s beautiful, Lucy can’t help notice how wonderful it all looks, especially the blooming cherry blossoms along the sides. It’s all breathtaking, and if Lucy was here in any other circumstance, she would have been blown away.

Suddenly they are at the end of steps and the musicians picks up their instruments and begin to play. Wyatt is getting his waltz. He doesn’t bother to ask her if she’d dance with him, they both know what they’re here for. Romance is out the window and they’re simply here to pretend otherwise.

They begin the waltz, Wyatt placing his hand firmly on her waist, she places her other hand on his shoulder. Lucy is pretty sure she’s going to be sick. Especially once she steps on Wyatt’s foot.

And then again.

“Sorry”

“They didn’t teach you how to dance, Princess?”

She finally looks up at him and is surprised by the smirk that he wears. For some reason it annoys her. He’s teasing her, but the playful manner of his tone doesn’t reach his eyes.  She didn’t ask to be heir to Rittenhouse, she didn’t ask to marry him. She wasn’t asked at all.

“Stop calling me that”

“I’ll stop when you stop stepping on me”

And right on cue she stumbles on his foot.

“Princess.”

She huffs and tries to avoid looking at his face. Instead she concentrates on the growing number of people joining them on the dance floor. This is her first ball, technically. Lucy was only two weeks shy of making her debut when they left in the dead of the night, and she wasn’t allowed out to the town dances that the tenants and merchants held in the small town square three miles from the cottage.

Everything is bright and loud; the colours of the ladies dresses, the large flames that prevented the night stealing them into darkness, and the strain of the strings has they desperately clinging onto a note.

The waltz reaches its peak and Wyatt continues to twirl her around. She should feel giddy, dancing in the middle of a ball, with a handsome man, in a gown that cost more than anything she had ever worn in years.

Lucy’s gaze looks over Wyatt’s shoulder at the crowd, and spotts her mother discussing something heatedly with one of her ladies in waiting. Wyatt spins her around again so she faces the other way, looking at the rows of trees, decorated with strings of paper lamps.

The music winds down, and the waltz meets its end. Lucy half wonders if Wyatt will leave her in the middle of the floor, in this sea of thousands. He doesn’t, instead he leads her back to the crowds milling on the edge of the floor, depositing her by her mother, before bowing and turning away, losing himself in the crowds.

Lucy is relieved to see him leave. She didn’t know what to say, whether to defend herself, her family. However, she doesn’t regret all the times she stepped on his toes. While his boots are made of much sterner stuff than her slippers, it was nice to not have lost all her agency. She may have lost her freedom, her family name, but she can always step on men’s toes.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos thus far- so great to hear that people are enjoying this!
> 
> A bit of a filler chapter I'll admit but I'm working on the next I swear!

Wyatt awoke with the sunlight shining on his face. It is harsh, it is unforgiving, much like his memories of the previous night. He managed to avoid Lucy (and the rest of the Rittenhouse clan attending) for most of the night, but his mind betrays him. He can’t stop thinking about her. (And apparently she had made it into his dreams too…)

Shaking his head, clearing thoughts of the girl in the purple parlour- Lucy- Wyatt pulls himself out of his bed and out of his thoughts. He mindlessly goes through the motions of the morning. Washing, dressing, carefully placing his weaponry about his person, and then setting out for a quick trip to the upper tower, which allows him a view of the entire Mason household. While Mason refers to his home as a house, it was more than that- a mansion, a castle, a cathedral. It may have been a mere house at one stage, but now, it was at least ten- fifty- times the size of an average family’s house.

Making his way through the curving stone corridors, Wyatt doesn’t make it to his usual morning spot. Instead, he is stopped by Michelle, Christopher’s second in command and wife. Luckily, she was always kinder in her regard for Wyatt.

“And here I thought I was going to have to douse you with cold water again” She looks up at him with a smirk.

“Sorry to have disappointed” Wyatt can’t help but grin back. Michelle and Christopher had always been a pair of mothers for himself and Rufus growing up in the Mason household. Michelle definitely played the kinder mother of the two, role she continued even as the pair grew into men. However, she was not above a telling off, nor throwing buckets of cold water on the boys when the previous night’s escapades had caught up with them.

“Lord Mason is having the Cahill family over for breakfast and has requested your presence downstairs. They should be arriving soon.” With her message delivered, Michelle turns and returns to her usual work.

So much for his usual morning routine.

So much for forgetting about Lucy.

He doesn’t want to face them, doesn’t want to think about his impending union, doesn’t want to deal with that twist in his gut when he looks at her and realises that his purple parlour girl is in fact the spawn of a deranged man.

However, Wyatt knows this household like the back of his hand. Mason knows he is awake and up and about, there was no point running back to his chambers, locking the door and pretending to be sick.  The house is full of eyes and ears that all run back to the head; it would be a futile effort.

Instead of taking the right tight staircase up to the upper tower, he takes the left servants staircase down, winding down into the belly of the house. Once in the kitchen, he weaves between busy bodies, rushing here and there, chefs shouting over one another about this evening’s menu. Wyatt gives a quick nod to the poor boy washing the seemingly never ending pile of pots.

Soon he comes out the otherside of the long kitchen and finds another staircase- as narrow as the one before- and he takes it two at a time. The wooden steps hold his bounding easily, and he makes it up them with no interruption. He pauses in the equally narrow corridor, dimly lit by a row of candles on the wall. Then he opens the door into the dining hall.

He is not expecting the Rittenhouse family to be so prompt to breakfast. Most other nobles were at least two hours late.

Wyatt stands frozen, the door (or rather wall, depending on what angle you looked at it) still open, revealing the inner workings of the Mason household. At the table, everyone turns to see what had captured Lady Carolyn’s attention. Lucy’s face blanches, Cahill’s frown somehow manages to deepen, Lady Carolyn looks as though she has been presented cow pat in place of her eggs on toast, and Mason looks ready to erupt. It is Rufus, good old reliable Rufus, who saves the day.

He goes to reach for something and ‘accidentally’ knocks over a glass, spreading his drink across the table and over its edges. Lady Carolyn jumps back, clutching her dress away from the feared drips. Mason and Cahill’s reaction is similar, jumping back and barking out a complaint to Rufus, who is desperately trying to clean up his mess. Lucy, however, leans forward, taking her napkin and attempts to aid him in his efforts, quickly wiping up the spill.

Wyatt takes his cue to close the door and make his way over to the table quickly, picking up a cloth and joining in the clean up.

“Lucy,” Lady Carolyn’s voice is harsh, grabbing her daughter’s wrist, forcing her to drop the napkin, “there’s no need for you to do that”. As if she had said the magic words, servants appear with clean cloth and in record time restore order to the table. Lucy glances up at her mother, and then looks down, her eyes glued to her hands that sit in her lap.

Wyatt takes his seat nexts to Rufus. Hopefully this will be quick.

Wyatt knows the gods are not on his side however, once Cahill opens his mouth, “so, Mason, about those riverbank farms-”

“Benjamin.” Lady Carolyn whispers, her voice harsh, she doesn’t move her eyes away from the spot just over Mason’s left shoulder. She smiles, and then asks her voice sweeter than before, belying the steel Wyatt knows lurks there, “gentleman, shall we leave that talk for after breakfast?” She doesn’t wait for confirmation, instead turning her attention on Rufus, “So Lord Carlton, Mason tells me you’ve been developing some new tools for the Smythes?”

This is all the invitation for Rufus to launch into a speech on the need for development within agriculture and manufacturing. It’s more of a history lesson, Rufus may be an idiot at times but he wasn’t stupid enough to give away secrets to the enemy sitting across from them. Cahill and Lady Carolyn are attentive, Mason looks relieved he doesn’t have to argue about the damn riverbank farms.

Wyatt doesn’t bother to look at Lucy. She’s probably not as good at hiding her boredom with Rufus’ year by year history of the spade. He picks at the meat on his plate. Takes a drink of his coffee. Picks more at his meat.

He sneaks a glance at Lucy. She’s frowning at Rufus, looking unimpressed. He should have known, little Rittenhouse Princess couldn’t even put on a show, at least pretend to listen.

\---

Lucy finds the whole history fascinated. While at times the technological side confuses her, it is interesting to hear the development from one technology to another. She is desperate to ask questions, itching to tell Lord Carlton to hold for one moment so she can run home and grab her paper and pen to jot it all down.

However, she doesn’t, because that’s not what Rittenhouse women do. Her mother’s hand is a firm pressure on her leg and Lucy keeps to herself. Seen not heard, that is apparently all she is to her family. Lucy can’t believe the mother she tended vegetable gardens with, and the mother she sat next to were the same person, as if the gowns and jewels unleashed a monster.

So, she sits quietly and listens, hoping her memory is strong enough to remember everything that Rufus was saying. This would be a great addition to her work- something that went beyond the stories of family feuds and local gossip, something that would impact society- the world- as a whole. There should be a record of it.

“Rufus, please,” Mason holds up his hand to his nephew, who halts his chatter on the potential use of steam, as a force of some sort- Lucy didn’t fully understand, “I’m sure our guests can learn more about your achievements and learnings another time.” Lucy feels her mother’s hand squeeze her leg, the message clear: don’t you dare ask anything else.

The chatter after that is less interesting, mundane even. The weather, the new trade routes to the outer towns, the potential breeding to be done between the families horses. Wyatt coughs uncomfortably at this conversation and Rufus asks her mother about her famous gardens. Lucy has never felt so thankful.

Suddenly there’s a commotion and in through the doors (the main doors, not the servants’ wall door), marches Sir Sherwin. Wyatt stands at once to attention. His superior simply nods to him and then goes to Mason- “there’s be a disruption, down South East, by the pass.”

Mason swears, standing fully to face his military commander.

“Who was it?”

Sherwin doesn’t respond, raising a brow and gesturing his head towards the table, towards the guests, towards the Rittenhouse enemies.

“Wyatt,” Mason calls out. At once Wyatt is by his side, back straight, hand on the hilt of his sword, and ready to go. “Go with Sherwin, sort this- I’m sure it’s nothing more than a neighbourly disagreement”

“Mason-” Sherwin begins.

“I trust you to deal with it, I have bigger fish to fry right now.”

With that Mason turns on his heel and goes back to his seat. Wyatt looks over at his grandfather, who frowns, but turns to leave, thankfully avoiding another scene. Wyatt stands still for a moment, and Lucy waits to see what he does next.

He turns, bows curtly, and then follows his grandfather out of the room.

He’s barely said anything all breakfast. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all.

Dear lord, she’s marrying a mute. Or at least a man who can’t be bothered to even attempt a conversation. Not that she was allowed to say much during breakfast, but it would be nice to know that their breakfast table won’t be as silent as a graveyard.

The breakfast winds down and before she knows it they’re returning to the carriages to head home. Back to her four walls and dress fittings.


	6. Chapter 6

That was the last time Lucy saw Wyatt. The incident at the South Eastern pass was apparently more than anyone expected. She wasn’t being told more than that, and she didn’t ask. But the wedding is only days away, and honestly Lucy needs to know if it is going ahead or not.

So, in her final fitting, as the seamstress pins her dress into place once more, she looks down at her mother and asks, “have you heard anything? At all?”

“About what Lucy you’re going to need to be more specific- there’s a lot going on as you should be aware” Carolyn glances up at her daughter, before looking back down at the dress, pulling it into a new drape.

“You know, about the groom? We haven’t seen him since the breakfast which was over a week ago, and I need to know if-”

“Lucy don’t worry about that. The wedding is happening. Believe me I’ve tried to stop it, but your father can’t be-”

“You tried to stop it? For me?”

Lucy can feel tears pricking at her eyes, her mother is fighting for her. Carolyn drops the fabric in her hand and takes Lucy’s into her own, looking up, she says quietly, “Lucy I tried, but they can’t be reasoned with. This, this stupid idea, is apparently the only solution.” She reaches her hand up to Lucy’s face and gently wipes away the stray tear falling down Lucy’s face.

“I’m,” Lucy sniffles, more tears falling, “I’m scared”

“Oh Lucy darling.” Carolyn pauses, taking a deep breath, pooling her resolve into her voice, “it’s going to be ok, everything will be alright”.

The pair hold their position for a moment longer, Carolyn holding her daughter’s face in her hands, Lucy clutching her mother’s wrists like a woman drowning, tears falling down her face.  

**\---**

Wyatt is tired to the bone. He had been sleeping in quick, too short, naps, whenever there was a spare moment, but those bastards at the South Eastern pass would not give up. He could have slept, admittedly, as he was now a high enough rank to be given an actual bed, but it didn’t feel right.

So here he is hoping to get at least one full night sleep before tomorrow.

 _Tomorrow_.

He pushes that thought aside, no point worrying over something that he had no say in. While he would never admit it aloud, Wyatt is glad for those rebels at the South Eastern pass. It meant he was out of the house for the entire wedding planning and prep. He avoided all the fuss and commotion that had come with it.

He was teased ferociously by some comrades for ‘finally falling for someone’, some even threw lines of star crossed lovers at him. Others were less kind, others accused him of treachery, betrayal, and outright treason against Mason. They argued that they should gut Rittenhouse as it stands instead of aligning with them.  Wyatt was tempted to just tell everyone that he had nothing to do with this marriage. There is no love, him and Lucy are far from star crossed lovers. He hasn’t been in a room with her since the breakfast.

But he can’t think about all that, all he needs to do was get to bed and collapse for the next ten hours.

The house is quiet, belying all the behind the scenes work Wyatt knows is going on and will continue until the early morning. Rounding the corridor to his chambers, Wyatt considers how big the crowd will be tomorrow, whether any of his comrades will be let into the festivities or had Rittenhouse stamped their snooty rules all over the wedding. At least it will be held at the Mason house. Small blessings.

Before he can consider another line of thought, he spots a figure wandering through the darkness. His fatigue is shed in an instant, slowly he quietens his footsteps on the stone slabs, and gently pulls a dagger from his belt.

Carefully…

Slowly…

He reaches out, grabbing the figure, twisting them to his front and shoving the knife to their throat. From which a very feminine scream erupts. Wyatt realises the figure held to his front is also very feminine. Not the usual form attackers take, but he isn’t taking any chances. Roughly turning the mysterious intruder around, Wyatt comes face to face with his intended.

Her eyes are bundled close and her whole body is tensed, ready for whatever is coming. Quietly she’s whispering, “please don’t, please don’t, please don’t.” He lets go of her and she blinks her eyes open, her big brown eyes looking on the brink of tears.

“Oh,” she looks him up and down, not quite understanding what was going on, “you’re here?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re meant to be, well I guess you were-”

“This is the route to my room,” Wyatt can’t help but appreciate the blush that blooms onto her cheeks, “so the question is, what are you doing here?”

She looks up at him, directly this time, pulling herself together in a way Wyatt hadn’t seen before, and proudly proclaims, “I was trying to find the library”

“You’re a long way off from the library, that’s on the other side of the house”

“Well, I didn’t say I had succeeded in finding it”

She takes a step away from him and crosses her arms across her chest. There’s a brief pause before she asks, this time with less gusto, “so, can you tell me how to find it? Or do I need to keep wandering around this castle all night?”

Sighing, Wyatt mentally considers the route. It would be easier to tell her the main, guest friendly path, but that would take her some time to get to… it would be quicker, and easier, if he drops her off at the library and safely forgets about her.

(Until tomorrow.)

“Follow me,” turning back the way he came, he casts one quick glance towards his room and sighs again, battling against a yawn that threatens to bust out. Twisting through the hallway he leads her to the staircase, but instead of going up, as he usually did during the morning, he climbs down. Wyatt doesn’t bother waiting to see if Lucy is following him, he just wants to drop her off and get back to his bed.

“Do you use the servants’ corridors often?” Lucy pipes up from behind him, descending the staircase a few steps behind him. Wyatt debates ignoring her questions, but decides it’s probably better to answer her. However, he keeps his reply to a minimum.

“Yeah.”

“Well…” He can tell she’s searching around for some conversation, something to prolong the inevitable silence that will fall onto them. It’s the first time they’ve been alone together since he found out who she was. He didn’t feel comfortable at all.

“It’s nice that you’re able to.”

That wasn’t what he was expecting at all. It’s a quiet admission, and he’s not sure if she actually meant for him to hear it. When they reach the bottom of the flight of stairs, he pauses, letting her catch up and looks down at her with a raised brow. He’d loath to admit it, but he’s intrigued by the slight jealous tone in her voice.

“Oh-” she looks up at his questioning face and sighs, running her hands nervously down her dress. “I’m not allowed to wander around the house too much. Mother’s terrified even the slightest thing will go wrong.” She tries laughing her admission off, but Wyatt can only frown. She’s a grown woman, surely she should be able to walk around her own home whenever and wherever she felt like it.

They walk alongside each other down the long creaky corridor. Lucy glances up at him, leaning over conspiratorially, whispering, “really, she’d have my skin if she knew I was out and about the house this late.” She smiles, and Wyatt fights the grin threatening to break. She is the enemy, representing the end of his freedom, the end of his own agency, the union of two warring houses. But, she is cute.

Shaking his head slightly, Wyatt draws his attention back to the journey at hand. The silence descends then and Wyatt is glad- it meant he didn’t have to look at her.

**\---**

Lucy wasn’t quite sure why she had told him all that- really she’d never told anyone that she wasn’t allowed to wander around her own home. Not that she had anyone to tell really. Her time at home was kept under deep scrutiny. She didn’t go anywhere without her parents knowing- so her time was divided between the parlour, the dining room, her own room, and then occasionally the garden (if the weather was fine and her mother would allow it).

Once she heard that there is a library at Mason’s, she knew she had to find it. Given all the stories and histories Rufus recounted at breakfast last week, she knew there had to be records of it somewhere- that somewhere must  be library. But she had never been in a house so big, nor had she walked around somewhere this big at night.

Once the shock was gone, Lucy was glad to see Wyatt- more than glad, he wasn’t one of her father’s soldiers, especially not…

No, she won’t think about him, not here, not now. She is far away from him, in one of the most well guarded homes in all the land.

Wyatt leads her down another hallway that look just like the last, and then another, and then down a set of stairs. She sneak as many glances as she can as they walk. He looks tired, exhausted even. There are bags under his eyes and he keeps fighting back yawns. He also has a cut on the side of his forehead, nothing serious, but enough that it most likely leave a mark.

Probably serves him right in one way or another, she reminds herself, before she starts getting too sympathetic.

Wyatt pushes open a door which leaves them in a long dark main corridor. Swiping a lit candle stick from a nearby table, Wyatt walks a couple more metres, before stopping at an imposing oak door.

“Well,” his voice his gruff and quiet, Lucy inclines her head to hear him better, “here we are.”  He pushes open the large door with ease, walking into the room. Lucy follows- a voice in the back of her head questioning her decision to follow a near stranger into a dark room. But that voice shuts up once she sees all the books.

Goodness, there are so many books. She didn’t realise there could be so many in one room.

It’s a large circular room- it might have been a tall tower at one stage of its’ life but the various floors had been gutted out to make room for the tall shelves that encircle the room. There’s ladders that seem to go on forever and Lucy can feel the ache in her neck from looking up for so long. The rest of the room is scattered with tables and large worn armchairs, piles of forgotten books pepper the floor between them like stepping stones.

“So,” Wyatt turns, to face her, placing the candlestick on a table. “Have fun- I guess?”

“Oh, I will”

Wyatt grins at her and she can’t help but smile back, despite their upcoming situation. She turns from him and looks up at the wonders around her- she’s not quite sure where to start. Lucy moves from one end of a bookshelf to the other, pausing to pick up a book and flick through it before placing it back in its place. She’s squinting down at a book, trying to make out the title in the dim light, when she hears a soft snore. Looking up, Lucy is faced with the unexpected sight of Wyatt, fast asleep in an armchair.

She wasn’t expecting him to stay, in fact she’s pretty sure he wasn’t expecting to either. Taking the book in her hand, she pads back over to the armchairs. Wyatt is dead to the world, his face blissfully blank. Lucy keeps quiet but can’t stop her smile.

Book in hand, she’s not sure on what to do next. She can’t remember how they got here, and there is no way she knows how to get to her room. She stands looking down at him, considering her options. She could leave him sleeping and wander around in the vein hope that she eventually finds her room. She could wake him and face the awkward conversation. Or she could sit and wait for him to wake up.

Weighing her options, Lucy gently places her hand on his shoulder and shakes him.

That does nothing.

She frowns, shaking him more sternly.

She carries on for a minute, shaking him, placing more and more pressure on his shoulder. She is close to hitting him when his hand shoots up and grabs her wrist. Wyatt’s eyes remain closed, “I’m awake.” He lets go of her wrist, which she quickly draws back to herself, and then comments, “thanks for the bruises.”

He pulls himself off the chair and looks down at her, running a hand through his hair, blinking slowly. “You ready to leave?”

Lucy can only nod. It takes all her strength not to look at his face, his full pouty lips. It’s hard to hate someone who looks that good only seconds after waking up.

Silently she follows him out, clutching her chosen book to her chest. Wyatt seems to be running on autopilot, winding around corners without even looking back at her. The suddenly, they’re at her door, Wyatt holds the candle over her as she opens her door, the gentle click of the door echoing out across the hallway.

“Thank you,” she looks up at him, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Lucy doesn’t know why she asked the question, as if either of them had a choice in whether they’ll be there tomorrow or not. He smiles sleepily down at her, “I guess I will.” With that he turns around, taking candle with him, leaving her to her empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and reviews- means a lot!


	7. Chapter 7

The day went by in a blur. Wyatt wasn’t sure how he was able to say ‘I do’ but he did it. He was passed from person to person, group to group, congratulating him with cheers and slaps on the back. Rufus just gives the pair a sympathetic smile. 

Soon he is sat next to Lucy, who continues to determinedly look down at her lap, nervously twisting the ring on her finger. It feels like the first time he is properly looking at her, actually seeing her, all day. Her hair is gently pulled up, with two gardenias tucked into the do. Her dress is surprisingly simple. He had been expected something huge, impractical and covered in gems, some hideous thing that only a Rittenhouse member could love. Instead, it is a simple white gown with long flowing sleeves, but her cream shoulders are bare, her collarbones and chest shown off to the world. 

Her ring is simple band. That (apparently) is tradition within his family, the Logan family not the Mason, and his Grandpa thought it would be nice if he could keep it up. Wyatt wasn’t so sure, not only with the reminder of his father but also given the amount of gems Lady Carolyn’s wore just to  breakfast, he was sure Lucy would prefer something flashier. However, there was no time to find another ring. 

Wyatt is all to aware of the matching one on his left hand. It’s weight foreign, making him all too conscious of what had happened. He’s a bodily person, it’s his job to know his body, but he’d never been so aware of all the things he does with his left hand until this new weigh had been added. 

It is not long before his comrades show up and he is being pulled from the table, promises of drinks and more slaps on the back are given. Wyatt thanks the heavens that they came, not able to stand another minute sitting at the table with the sullen and silent Lucy. 

So, he drinks. 

\---

Lucy is whisked away an hour or so after Wyatt is pulled out of his seats by a group of cheering, jeering, and leering soldiers. Lucy is glad to be finally allowed to leave her own wedding party. She just wants to go to bed. These past few weeks have been leading up to this moment and now it is done, she just wants to shut the world out.

However, the maids have other ideas. Bringing her up to another room, a boudoir she thinks, what with the mirrors and the bath in the corner, they carefully help her undress. Lucy begins to shake out her hair pins, only to have a hand slap away her own. 

“Don’t you worry about that Miss, we’ll sort it”

Lucy frowns up at the maid in the mirror, but says nothing. Maybe the women within the Mason household had certain ways of doing things. Maybe they liked getting their hair brushed out and artfully arranged with even more flowers. Lucy is tired and doesn’t want to make a fuss. God forbid she upset someone, she can’t face anyone’s wrath tonight. 

However, she does question the night gown that is presented to her. 

It isn’t suitable at all. 

It definitely is not something to be slept in. 

Sheer in parts, silken in others, it just about covers the necessities but she knows its true intention is to show her off. 

Most certainly not for sleeping in. 

“Is there anything else? If you could just go to my chambers there should be-” 

“This is what we were told to do Miss” the smaller maid replies, tying a light silk robe in place, over the nightgown, pausing to examine the bow. “You’ll be back in your own gown soon enough, this is just for tonight.” 

Lucy bites down on her lip, feeling faint. 

_ Tonight.  _

She spent so much energy worrying over the wedding, over the marriage as a whole, over her future life at Mason, that she overlooked this small detail. The actual... _ consummation _ of her marriage. Her mother had somehow avoided the conversation, but Lucy had learnt a lot  from books, ranging from medical texts to novels she borrowed from the maid that lived in the cottage with her mother and Lucy. 

Lucy also lived near a farm. She knows what happens in the springtime. 

The maid looks up at her, and smiles sympathetically. “It’ll be over before you know it deary” she coos. Lucy can only look down at her in horror. She feels frozen. She thought she had done her part for the day. Her part is only just starting. 

The maid who was doing her hair stands back and the older maid takes Lucy’s hand, leading her out of the boudoir and through another door, through a bedroom decorated with all her belongings, and into another room. 

Into a bedroom. 

They give her a little push into the room and slam the door closed behind her. Lucy knows they will lock it, they probably will do so if it was any new bride, but hearing the click of it didn’t help her hammering heart. 

She stands for some time, in her barely there nightgown and devilishly soft robe, in the centre of the room, taking it in. In the corner, a large four poster bed, freshly laundered blankets neatly tucked in. A few feet away, sharing the same wall, a large fireplace presides over the room. It’s huge, almost the same height as Lucy. But, it is the beginning of summer, so the fireplace is empty, an open mouth waiting to be fed. There are candles in place of a large fire, casting a glow throughout the room. The rest of the room is spartan enough- a soft but worn red rug under her feet, a somewhat battered armchair next to the fireplace. Everywhere has been recently cleaned, shined, and polished. However, the cleanliness did not diminish the room’s welcoming nature, it’s broken in feeling of pure comfort. 

She can’t stand and gawk at the room all night, so Lucy makes her way over to the bed. 

No wait, maybe the bed isn’t the best idea, better to sit in the chair and approach this like an adult. 

No, she should. There’s only one reason for her being here and the bed is part of it. 

Lucy goes to the bed and lies down on top of the sheets. Might as well get comfortable whilst she waits for the one (very important) event she completely forgot about. Her mother didn’t mention heirs as part of the deal, but Lucy isn’t stupid. If she fails to produce offspring within the next year, the marriage will be called into question. The whole peace process could be called off. 

She had resigned herself to that- her pawn-role in this whole effort. She wants peace, she wants to be away from her father’s home, and she wants the townspeople to not leave in fear anymore. This arrangement gives her all this and more. But it also means bearing the offspring of a man who has murdered, who has killed, who represents the boogeyman that haunted her childhood dreams. He is part of the problem, he shouldn’t be the solution. 

Yet here she is, in his bedroom, dressed to seduce him. 

Oh goodness, she doesn’t know anything about seducing. Lucy runs her fingers over the silk dressing gown, wondering if only there were a manual she can read, if she can remember anything from those silly novels. If only she was allowed out of the home and could have socialised more… not that she would have been able to talk to women who knew a thing or two about seducing. 

With her wandering mind, Lucy doesn’t notice the door creep open. However, she would have to be deaf not to notice the staggering figure practically fall into the room. 

\--- 

Wyatt manages to make it to his room- drinking since early in the afternoon, and drinking heavily at that, it would not have been a surprise for him to simply sleep in a corner, wherever he fell. It would not have been the first time. He is a little proud of making it to his room in one piece, only breaking one glass the entire evening. 

Taking off his belt, dropping his sword with a clatter on the floor, Wyatt almost trips over his own feet. However, a pair of small hands reach over, bringing him to a slightly more stable position. Swaying on the spot, he looks to see his saviour. 

Lucy, the Rittenhouse Princess, now Lucy Logan he supposes. 

That train of thought does not last long, once he sees what she was wearing. His brain is already struggling enough as it is, battling to keep him upright and conscious, adding a beautiful woman dressed to sin is not a good idea. Every time she moves, a new piece of skin teases him. He drinks the sight of her up, selfishly memorising each flash of pale skin. 

“Wyatt?” Lucy asks as he stumbles forward again without meaning to take a step. Drink does that to you, making you take three steps more than necessary. 

“Wyatt, are you ok?” Lucy’s voice has a slightly panicked edge to it as the silence draws out. 

“I’m…” Wyatt begins, but his voice is gravely, he tries coughing but it doesn’t help, “I’m good.” He looks her in the eyes, (a hard task- to drag his eyes away from her form) his hands gripping her shoulders for support, “I’m pretty goooood.” She looks up at him, desperate to keep concern front and centre, but she laughs and Wyatt concludes that it’s his most best favourite sound. 

Lucy looks up at him again, her laughter subsiding, an amused look taking its place on her face, “come on, let's get you to bed”. Moving behind him, she begins to push him towards his bed and his brain is losing blood flow with every step they take. He looks over his shoulder and asks, hoping for a blush or another giggle; “Are you seducing me Princess?” 

Lucy freezes and Wyatt stops, just at the edge of the bed. But Wyatt doesn’t concern himself with Lucy once his knees hit the bed. Priorities change, and right now, sleep has climbed back up the list to the number one spot. He climbs into the bed, pulling and tugging the blankets, while also trying to kick off his boots. He doesn’t have enough coordination for that, so he sits up and pulls his boots off. Halfway through getting his second boot off, he looks up, catching Lucy simply standing, staring at him. 

“We,” he begins, his voice as serious as he can make it, “need to sleep.” He pulls off his doublet, dropping it to the floor next to his boots. He decides it will be best to keep his shirt and pants on, for her sake. Sleep was of vital importance now, and Lucy getting sleep is included in that. 

Gracelessly, he flops back onto the bed, and lazily pats the space next to him. 

“Luuuccyyyy” he moans, “we gotta sleep” 

“I- I can sleep in the chair, really it’s fine.” Lucy calls out, Wyatt strains his neck and looks at her. She hadn’t moved. So Wyatt pats the space next to him with more force and calls out again “come on Lucyyy.”

He continues to pat, or rather, slap the space next to him. Moments later, he feels the bed dip with the weight of another person, and he stops his assault on the bed. He feels rather than sees her move beyond the space he was hitting, so she is out of arm's reach. 

She is in bed, going to sleep, or at least she should be. So, Wyatt falls asleep too, legs, dangling off the end of the bed, arm outstretched. Dead to the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooo
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and reviews and what not so far! This chapter (and the next!) were probably my favourite thus far to write- hope you enjoyed!


	8. Chapter 8

The sunlight reaches through the window, the curtains forgotten to the sides, allowing it to slink into the room. The air is light and warm, the type that makes you think of doing nothing. The type that makes still moments stretch out into decades. 

Lucy feels warm, but not too uncomfortable, just in that cosy middle temperature. Cosy is the right word for it, she feels cosy. She doesn’t want to leave this spot, not for anything in the world. However, as her body and mind wake up, adjusting to the sunlight and the day that is dawning, she becomes aware of three things:

One- her face is nuzzling into a head of short cropped hair, the head of which, Lucy has wrapped her arms around in a safe cocoon. 

Two- there is a pair of strong heavy arms wrapped around her middle, pulling her to the other body. She pushes experimentally against them, they only squeeze her closer. 

Thirdly- her legs are entwined with someone else’s. Her usually cold toes pressed against warm fabric encased legs. 

When she begrudging went to the bed Wyatt kept hitting, she had only intended to lay there until he fell asleep, but once she lay down she knew she wasn’t going to be getting back up anytime soon. Naively, Lucy had assumed that they would stick to their respective sides of the oversized bed. This is evidently not the case. 

It is Wyatt’s head that she holds in place against her neck and chest. It is Wyatt’s arms that wrap around her middle firmly holding her in place. It is Wyatt’s legs that her own had encircled. 

However, Lucy doesn’t feel trapped, she feels safe, content, and cosy. 

She is also unsure of what to do, yet again caught somewhere she knows she shouldn’t be. 

However, there is no time for her to consider an escape route as she feels Wyatt stir. He nuzzles his head into her neck further, his arms somehow pulling her even closer to him, unintentionally (or she assumes so) brushing his lips against the base of her neck. Lucy takes in a shaky breath. Wyatt hums, as content as she was only moments ago. 

Slowly, she feels him wake up, blinking at the morning sun daring to enter the room, taking a deep breath in and out, the exhaled air teasing her skin. Then she feels him freeze, as she did once she realised what position they were in. Wyatt pulls back from her, gently pushing against her arms that are still wrapped around his head and easing the hold he had placed around her. 

He looks up at her, and Lucy looks down at him. 

The air feels charged as soon as she looks into those blue eyes. They’re tinged with confusion, sleepiness, and something else. Something wanting. 

Lucy wants to say something. To tell him to let go of her and leave her alone. To tell him hush and pull him back into his previous position, and back into the liminal bliss they were in. But Lucy doesn’t do either of those things, she just continues to look into his eyes, and enters this new delicate peace between the two of them with a quiet “hello.” 

Wyatt blinks in response, his eyes flicking from her eyes to her lips. Lucy would have missed it if she had not been examining his face closely. The cut on the side of his forehead is fading fast. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, a repercussion of last night’s drinking, she guesses. There is more stubble on his jaw than usual, his lips are as full as always. Lucy quickly pulls her gaze up from his lips, back to the safer region of his eyes. 

“Morning?” Wyatt asks, though Lucy is not sure if he intended it as a question or not, his frown deepening further into confusion as he wakes up more. 

However, Lucy doesn’t have time to respond, as a large bang echoing just outside the room. Wyatt springs from her, grabbing a dagger from somewhere (she hopes it wasn’t beneath the pillows this whole time). 

Lucy stays sat on the bed, desperately pulling down the nightgown that had dangerously drifted upwards during the night, and then retying the silk robe around her, pulling it close and hoping it was covering what needed to be covered up. 

Wyatt carefully opens the door, sword poised and ready to strike. Lucy holds her breath. Already a part of the Mason household and she is facing threats to her life. 

Luckily danger is not yet at their doorstep, only a maid failing to quietly carrying a chest of clothing into the room next door. Wyatt slumps, closing the door and dropping the dagger to his side limply, the fight gone from him as quickly as it came. 

With the moment shattered, and his back to her, Lucy climbs out of the bed and slips through the door into her room, making her escape. 

\---

The days pass uneventfully after that. Wyatt returns to his duties, rising early, staying out sparring and training as much as he can, often missing dinner and trailing off to bed in the middle of the night. He works and keeps his head down, ignoring the new presence.

But he can only get away with ignoring her for so long. 

“When was the last time you saw your wife?” Sherwin asks, standing next to Wyatt at the top of the upper tower, looking out at the sunrise. Wyatt doesn’t say anything to his grandfather, instead choosing to look out over the house, watching the stable boy let the horses out to the field, a farm hand spread out feed for the chickens, and a maid beat a rug to an inch of its life. 

“Wyatt-” Sherwin’s tone carries a warning, and Wyatt feels like an insolent child all over again. Wyatt reluctantly looks over at his grandfather, who continues, “you need to make an effort, son”

“She’s Rittenhouse how can I-” 

“She’s a Logan now Wyatt-she’s your wife now.” Sherwin says quickly, harshly, “there’s no point having that kind of talk, that kind of thinking now. That is all behind us.” He speaks confidently, but Wyatt can’t help but feel he is announcing these intentions to assure himself of their certainty. 

“I can’t just forget”

“You need to. This war has gone on far too long. We need to make a new”

A gentle breeze rolls by, ruffling Wyatt’s hair. He can hear the changing of the front line guard. He needs to go down and check over the new defence strategy Rufus wanted to try out- it was the one of many changes Rufus is trying to bring in. But really Wyatt knew he didn’t need to be there, Rufus is more than capable of telling the men to get into a new formation, or to try out one of his new gizmos. Wyatt is stalling. 

Wyatt doesn’t want to face Lucy again. 

He doesn’t want to think about her looking down at him, holding each other in their arms, feeling more content than he ever has. He doesn’t want to think about how the morning light made her eyes shine, nor how the candlelight made her skin glow. 

Wyatt doesn’t want to be alone with Lucy, the girl from the purple parlour who was now his wife. He doesn’t want to a part of this new era of peace. He doesn’t want, doesn’t need, that weight on his shoulders. 

He definitely doesn’t want to start trusting Rittenhouse. 

“Wyatt, this is happening whether you like it or not. You might as well make the most of it and start to get to know your wife” Sherwin pats him on the back, turning to go down the stairs, leaving Wyatt to thoughts of his new wife and the future that lies ahead of them. 

\---- 

He finds her in the southern courtyard, watching Rufus tinker with his toys. Wyatt now realises why this section of the house is so vacant, Rufus has decided to ‘improve’ a battering ram, something he has worked on since he was a boy. Wyatt knows it is less of a challenge now, and more of a nostalgic pastime. Still doesn’t make it any less dangerous. 

He walks out and stands quietly next to Lucy, both watching as Rufus tinkers with some rope, and adjusts some pulleys. Leaning over, Wyatt says, “you shouldn’t be here”

Lucy jumps slightly, only now realising Wyatt is right next to her. Frowning up at him, blocking the sun out of her eyes, she replies “I’m just watching”.  She looks back out at Rufus’ decision making process, “Lord Carlton invited me here- an invitation to witness the future of war.” 

Her tone is an odd mixture of disgust, but also intrigue at the possible glimpse of what the future could look like. Her face is full of curiosity, that Wyatt can’t help but watch her. 

Despite her close attention to the battering ram (and the various add-ons Rufus had stuck onto it over the years), Lucy isn’t prepared for the noise it makes. It’s quick, a large cracking whip, that echoes through the air. She jumps back, one hand to her heart, the other latching onto Wyatt’s arm, clutching him for dear life. 

“Still think it’s safe to witness the future of war?” Wyatt asks, looking down at her.  She doesn’t give him a response, simply snatching back her hand from his arm. Lucy crosses them over her chest and hesitantly walks over to Rufus asking, “was that better or worse?” 

“Much better- well I think I might try add on some of the powder from the Chinese... it could really do some proper structural damage-”

“The last time you did that Christopher locked you in your room for a week with only potato soup to eat.” Wyatt calls out, making his way over to where Lucy and Rufus stand looking down at the battering ram. Lucy looks from Wyatt to Rufus, her face full of concern. Rufus simply laughs, ignoring her concern and says, “Not as bad as the time you thought it would be fun to race the horses through the banquet hall.”

“You what?” Lucy turns to Wyatt, her face full of utter disbelief. Rufus laughs again, recalling with fondness, “you had to wash the dishes for a fortnight.” 

“Gave me a better appreciation of the kitchen staff” 

Lucy looks between the two of them in disbelief. “Why?” 

“Why not?” Rufus laughs again. 

“Is he talking about the time he tried to make a one man army of archers?” A teasing voice calls out from behind them. Turning to face it, Wyatt can practically see Rufus melt. Jiya looks at her  fiancé with complete unabashed affection before walking towards Lucy, and taking her hands into hers, “Lucy,” Jiya looks Lucy dead in the eye, “so glad to meet you, finally. You were whisked away before I could introduce myself.” 

Wyatt can only watch as Lucy blushes, “I- well- it’s nice to meet you too! You must be Lord Carlton’s-” 

“Rufus, please- we’re basically family now” 

“And you have to call me Jiya, please I hate all the hoo-ha with the title and the names and the ya-da ya-da” Jiya keeps her hands clamped around Lucy’s, shaking them up and down to emphasise her words. Lucy just smiles at the other woman. Wyatt can’t help feel glad that Rufus’  fiancée is making gestures of friendship. Hopefully that will mean Lucy won’t have to hang around Rufus’ weaponry anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am such a sucker for the 'morning after' of sharing bed tropes. Totally unrealistic and what not but too fluffy to resist! Also to all you stateside- enjoy the finale!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments and feedback on the last chapter! Here's another one for ya! Kudos, comment, subscribe etc ;)

Lucy has a routine within a few weeks after her wedding. She sleeps in her own room- being sure to check the lock on the door that connects her room to Wyatt’s every night. She is awoken by the maids scurrying in and around her room, setting out a dress for her and then helping her wash and dress. The days stretch out into a hot languid heat that makes Lucy crave the cool stones of the small cottage out in the middle of nowhere. 

She dresses in linen dresses, wishing she could just get rid of the corset, but a voice in the back of her head (that always sounds like her mother) tells her that isn’t the right and proper thing to do. So, no matter how high the temperature, she keeps her corset and all other layers on. Everyday she bathes twice, a cool bath in the middle of the boudoir, to combat the less than pleasant effects of her day’s activity. 

Once ready, she joins everyone for breakfast. During the first few days, these were tense and silent. Wyatt not saying anything or even looking at her, Rufus unsure how to proceed with this extra person at the table, Jiya throwing soft smiles across the table at her, Mason trying to combat the silence alone with droning monologues, and sometimes Sherwin would join them (she suspected at this request of his grandson). Now, they were less tense. 

Everyone from the head of the household to the boy who washes the dishes, has gotten used to Lucy being there. While there are some adjustments to be made for a lady in a household overrun with men, these are soon made (gleefully by Michelle, with stern looks from Christopher at anyone who dared question the new ways of doing things). She no longer dreads breakfast as much as when she first arrived at Mason’s. 

Then, she has most of the day to herself. Sometimes she would explore the house and figure out new routes back to her bedroom. Other times she would spend hours in the library (often with Jiya giving her a list of recommended texts, but these were more often than not too advanced for her technical knowledge). She likes wondering the gardens, getting lost in the summer floral scents that would overpower her senses. 

Rarely, however, did Lucy venture into the courtyards or down past the stable- the realm of the guards and soldiers, and where Wyatt spends most of his time. Sometimes, in situ between one part of the house to another, she would see them all, sparring, laying out large maps on the grass and makeshift tables, or tending to their weapons. One time she saw Wyatt sparring with a group of new recruits. 

Lucy defends her decision to pause and watch, because anyone else with seeing eyes would have done the same.

It was a hot day, an oppressive heat that weighed heavily on everyone’s shoulders, pushing down and squeezing out every last drop of sweat from you as soon as you left a shady location. Lucy was wandering through these darker corners, hopping from one cool stone to another, when she came out onto the terrace, overlooking a courtyard (Lucy was unsure if it was the northern courtyard, or the south western, it was moments like these that she wishes someone would simply give her a map of the never-ending house). 

Below her, the new troops all stood, young awkward and unsure, watching two of the more experienced men fight. Wyatt and… Dave? David? Dave, circled around each other, shirts off, swords in hand. They were dripping in sweat, drenched from not only the heat but also from their efforts. Dave raised his sword, cutting through the air and swinging down at Wyatt, who met the sword with his own, a large clang ringing out across the courtyard. Lucy, like their audience of eager newbies, was rapt, caught up in the fight. 

Wyatt pushes off the other sword, arching his own from a defence into a strike. His shoulders, broad and strong, were all Lucy could stare at as he circled around, his back to her. She could see a line of sweat drip down his spine, lower and lower. 

After that Lucy avoided the northern (and southwestern) courtyard. She kept to the safe zones, where she knew, at the very least, Wyatt should be fully dressed. This usually would come in the form of dinner, which would echo breakfast- small, intimate, and increasingly something Lucy found herself looking forward to. 

The routine is interrupted when the weather broke, a large thunderstorm rolls in and brings much- welcomed rain. However, it goes on, and on, and on. The rain is relentless and the heat remains unforgiving. But there is a bit more breathing room than before and, with a lessening of  humidity comes a lessening of burden. This results in Mason announces a celebration of the break and the rain. 

“It feels like decades since we’ve had a ball,” he proclaims to the table, lamenting their mid summer solitude. 

“It hasn’t been more than a month- six week at most” Rufus levels a look at his uncle before sending an eye roll towards Wyatt. Wyatt hides his grin behind his cup, glancing over at Lucy quickly before turning his attention back towards Rufus and shrugs. Lucy knows that they will have a ball regardless of what Rufus says. Mason wants a ball, and he shall have a ball. 

“A celebration of the tempest” Mason spreads his hands out, letting his idea hang in the air. Lucy holds her tongue, wanting to laugh. Jiya and Rufus are struggling not to- Rufus lets out a choked chuckle and everyone falls apart. From the corner of her eye, Lucy can see Christopher, across the room, trying and failing to keep some decorum. 

“Well,” Mason frowns, looking around the table and then over to a barely-holding-it-together Christopher, “I like it, we always forget to celebrate the rain when we have it, only appreciating it once it is gone.” Everyone tries to agree, but the giggles keep coming. With each accidental eye contact the giggles grow. They tumble into full blown laughter once Mason stands and leaves the room, huffing and puffing his annoyance as he leaves. 

Slowly they come back to themselves and Lucy wipes a tear from her eye, relishing in the strain in her cheeks from smiling so hard. As she does so, she catches Wyatt’s eye. He smiles down at her, letting out a long deep breath to recover from the laughter. She can’t look away, her eyes locked onto his baby blues. 

He glances down. 

Her lips. 

Rufus stands from the table, taking Jiya’s hand and announces that they’ll be in the library, researching a new treatment for fevers. The moment is broken, but when Lucy looks over at Wyatt again, just a quick glance, he hasn’t taken his eyes off her.

**\---**

Wyatt is starting to look forward to breakfast and dinner, more so than he has ever done before. He is beginning to suspect why, but does not want to admit to it. The food certainly hasn’t change, only the company. His own wife. He keeps forgetting that Lucy is technically Lady Lucy Logan, his wife. But he rarely sees her, save for the hours early in the morning and at the end of the day, so it’s an easy mistake to make. To forget he had a wife. 

Marriage was not settling into Wyatt’s mind as easily as he thought it would. 

His assumption that things would go back to the way things have always been was only partially true. While on the whole, his routine is the same, but there are fractures, gaps of disruption that only she fills. Wyatt looks out for her, checks in with the various maids and Michelle about whether she needs anything, but he never asks directly. 

There is a peace between the two now, an end to the hatefulness that simmered between them when they first met (or technically, since the second time they met). Wyatt is determined not to disrupt this new avenue they find themselves in, he doesn’t want to put any more strain on Lucy, or cause any unnecessary chaos in the house. The last thing they need is Rittenhouse poking around and asking why their daughter is unhappy. 

So, Wyatt keeps to his routine, for the most part, and hopes that nothing will disrupt it. But his grandfather’s voice swirls in his head, telling him to do more, and mixes with the memory of the night they first met, and it tinged with the moment of inbetween bliss of waking up in her arms. 

Then Mason made her laugh uncontrollably and Wyatt was truly looking at her again. Her eyes were shining, her smile infectious, and a light hint of pink on her cheeks. Wyatt couldn’t stop looking at her even if a fire broke out. 

Mason’s rain ball, as he had referred to it, is like any other affair- large, loud, and over the top. The house is overrun with blue shimmering fabrics, additional fountains, and a bevy of beverages from across the lands. It is also to be the first ball Wyatt attends as a married man, an important figure in the Mason household. 

By now, most of the guests have arrived, and Mason is in full hosting mode- swinging between the groups of lords and ladies with an ease that Wyatt can’t help but envy. He makes his way over to Wyatt, who is standing in the corner of the large ballroom, hidden in the shadow of the central staircase. Seeing him approach, Wyatt stands to attention, gently placing his hand over his sword (a rapier this time- Mason insisted on a less ‘aggressive’ weapon). 

Mason stands next to Wyatt and looks out at the crowd, everyone in various shades of blue. It’s a sea of dancing, decorum, and lavish excess. Through the crowd, Wyatt can see the various servants expertly topping up wine glasses that have been left alone for a moment too long. The weave in between, unnoticed and unthanked- but their work would be sorely missed if they weren’t there. The air is getting heavier. Giggles and chatter can be heard over the swell of the violins.

“Your wife,” Mason begins, continuing to look out at his guests, “is upstairs waiting for you.”

Wyatt hides his frown of slight confusion, and pulls his face into a neutral expression. 

“You need to make a grand entrance, there’s been some rumblings- you haven’t been very attentive to your wife Wyatt, don’t think I haven’t noticed.” 

They continue to watch the crowds. The music ends for a moment, only to pick up again. The crowd shifts, new players make their way to the dance floor- picking up their agreed partners as they go.

“Rittenhouse are here tonight, we have to show a solid unified front to all the others. There should be no questions, no arguing. The war is over and peace is here. You are key to that Wyatt.” Mason now turns to Wyatt, assessing the younger man with a critical eye. Wyatt self consciously pulls on his navy leather doublet, wishing he had a real sword on him and not this toy strapped to his side. 

“Go on, your wife is upstairs waiting to be swept away!” With that Mason strides off, his light blue cloak sweeping behind him as the crowd eats him up.  Wyatt turns and takes the stairs two at a time. 

Lucy’s hands gently rests on the edge of the balcony, as she looked down at the dancers twirling to the music. Wyatt quietens his approach and indulges himself with this moment. Her dress is a deep navy, a blue so dark it looks made of the night sky, contrasting with her pale skin. He can see it is draped and curved around her a way that he hasn’t seen before- or at least had seen on her before. The dress is made to tease, the neckline daring, giving glimpses of shoulders and the rise of breasts. He wonders for a moment if it was designed by the same person who made her wedding nightgown. Her hair is not adored with flowers, but instead small silver jewels that glimmer in the candle light. 

Lucy slowly sways her head along with the music, her eyes never leaving the people below. He watches her sigh deeply, resting her hand on her cheek. 

“I never got that waltz” Wyatt says softly. Lucy turns, her hand to her chest in surprise at his sudden appearance. However, Wyatt is more interested in the embarrassed flush that blooms on her cheeks at being caught wistfully watching the action below. He is powerless to the smile that pulls on his lips as she presses down on her dress and avoids looking at him. 

“Technically you got your waltz already” she looks up at him through her lashes. 

“I don’t know if you stepping on my feet every other step can be counted as a waltz” he counters. 

She looks up at him fully now and smiles, “I think I might start a new dance craze, it would be a hit with a lot of the girls out there” 

Wyatt wants to say something back, something suave, but his mind goes blank with her smile and playful glance. She continues the eye contact for a beat longer, moving closer to him, but then Rufus comes in with Jiya and she takes a step back, her attention back to the floor.

There are too many people in this damn house. 

“You ready to head down?” Jiya asks Lucy. Lucy simply smiles and nods in response. “Great-” Jiya drags Rufus towards the staircase to make their entrance, “we’ll see you down there!” As quickly as they came, they leave. 

Wyatt pulls himself together, pushing his shoulders down and back, and stands next to Lucy, offering his arm to her. She pauses, looking up at him with a question on the cliff of her lips. However, she doesn’t ask. Instead, she takes his arm, pulling herself to him and letting him lead the way over to the stairs. 

They pause at the edge of it, the sound of the music reaching another peak, the chatter and clatter of the guests, overpowering any urge to start another conversation. Wyatt looks down at Lucy to find her already looking up at him. She smiles reassuringly, and Wyatt smiles back. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the kudos and comment thus far- especially all the trope love! Here's another one for ya....

Lucy doesn’t trip down the stairs, as she kept thinking she would. Instead, she holds onto Wyatt’s arm for dear life and tries to ignore the ominous deja vu of the moment. She’s also aware of the hundreds of pairs of eyes that watch them descend into the ballroom. They watch, critical of the girl they had forgotten, of the soldier she has married, of the concept of them- the pair that supposedly will bring peace. Each glare is a swift dissection and judgement that she knows will fuel quite a few conversations this evening. 

Lucy can see her parents across the room, standing to the side, surrounded by their usual bevy of friends and admirers. They should be making more of an effort to integrate with the rest of the party, with Mason, but Lucy concedes that their being here is a big enough statement. Her mother nods to Lucy, her eyes saying something that Lucy cannot decode in time before she reaches the end of the stairs. 

The show over, people return to their gossip and gaiety. However, Wyatt leans over and whispers in her ear, “don’t breathe easy yet, we still have the waltz to get through”. Lucy simply nods in response. She keeps her eyes trained on the mass of people in front of her. Damn him, his smirk and eyes making noodles of Lucy’s legs. Lucy had been trying to get rid of the image of him sparring for the last week, but everytime she looks at him the image of his slick sweaty back mentally smacks her.

“Scared of my slippers?” she replies, her voice coming out more breathy than she had intended as she dares a look at him. 

“I don’t think it your slippers I should be worrying about” 

His reply is quiet, ernest, and Lucy can’t tear her gaze away from his. They stand like that for a moment, in the middle of a crowd of strangers, searching for something in each other, perhaps to confirm and diagnose this growing feeling that is beginning to brew. 

She glances down at his lips- pink and full, enshrined by stubble. Quickly looking back up, Lucy is sure that he’s noticed. Wyatt’s face looks a little confused, with a dash of a challenge thrown in, his smirk still firmly in place. But Lucy is desperate to give him the answer- though she doesn’t even know the question he’s grappling with. In this crowd of hundreds, she wants to be the one to hold the cards and give him what he needs. 

He steps closer, she’s not sure if it is the josling of people coming and going, or the passing waiter with an oversized tray, that causes his movement toward her, his head ducking slightly. Lucy doesn’t dare move. The people surrounding them are no concern now, when his eyes are teasing her with a riddle she just want to sink her teeth into. 

The moment is broken by Mason who slaps Wyatt on the shoulder, with more force than Lucy thinks is necessary, and places a hand on Lucy’s forearm. He whispers harshly, his smile never leaving his lips, “you better get your asses out on that dance floor and waltz or so help me God above, Wyatt you will be on shit duty in the stable for the next week.” Lucy blankly blinks up at Mason and looks back to Wyatt, who despite the language and the threat, simply looks amused. 

“We were just on our way there” 

“Good- then get there.” 

With that Mason pulls back, all smiles and chuckles, leaving Wyatt within another ‘friendly’ slap on the back. Wyatt glares after the older man and for a second Lucy worries that she’ll have to break up a flight. But then Wyatt remembers her on his arm, and pulls a small apologetic smile, as if he’s embarrassed she had to witness that. 

“Shall we?” Lucy asks, pulling on his arm, moving them towards the dance floor and the others who twirl about with an ease she could only dream of achieving. Wyatt just nods, becoming more aware of the others around them. Lucy too begins to notice more of the stares and glares, of the whispers into ears with slight but not at all subtle gestures to her direction. She may not have been at court for many years, and technically never made her debut, but she could read social cues easily. She is not wanted here. She is not one of them. 

A princess turned country bumpkin, marrying into the now most powerful family in the land to save a family she is barely a part of. 

Lucy had hoped moving to Mason would mean an end to this pettiness that endrenched the Rittenhouse court life. But that is not the case, it will follow her wherever she goes. 

They make it to the dance floor in one piece and Wyatt pulls them into the correct position, bowing as she curtsies in response. Taking her into his arms, Lucy takes in a breath, and follows his lead. For a soldier, he is a good dancer. He keeps in time with the music, doesn’t step on her toes, and doesn’t barge through like a plough horse. He’s graceful, not in a delicate way, but he certainly has more grace than her. This time as they dance, she’s desperate not to step on his toes.

But she can’t help it. 

“Sorry,” she grimaces, darting a look up at her husband, who laughs softly at her slipper stepping, again, on his toes. 

“You know, I think my boots can handle it.” 

They twirl some more, and Lucy finds Wyatt looking down at her again with that confused look on his face. She looks away, focusing on his shoulder, encased in simple navy. She notes the feel of his hand on her back, steady and firm, on his hand in her’s, warm and secure.

“Where did they take you?”

“Pardon?” Lucy splutters, pulled from her thoughts.

“Your parents- where did they hide you all those years?”

“I don’t know if I can say exactly…” she looks up at him again as he carefully navigates them around another couple. The music swells and then gently ends. They break apart and bow. Wyatt places her arm on his and leads her outside, away from the people that hungrily watch them go. 

The lawn is practically empty, a smattering of persons here and there, but no one cares about these new outside visitors, too caught up in their own little worlds.  Lucy lets the late summer air fill her lungs, replenishing her after her turn on the floor. Wyatt leads her past the lingering light of the ballroom, down a pathway shaded by softly tousled trees. He stops, gains his bearings, and then continues onwards towards…

A small rose garden. Her mother’s could easily fit this garden into a third of her own, but it’s enclosed, surrounded by bushes, and there’s a small stone bench in the middle of the flowers, a cocoon of pink roses, hiding it away from the rest of the world. 

Wyatt apparently only thought up to the moment he would bring her here, as he pauses and looks around, before gesturing to the flowers, “I thought you would-”

“I love it” Lucy says without hesitation, leaving his arm, and moving towards the flowers. The scent fills the evening air and Lucy is transported back to her childhood. Summer days, before this all (or before she was old enough to realise what was going on), she would spend hours with her mother, helping her tend to her pride and joy- the Rittenhouse rose garden; passed down from one mother to another. Lucy would never tend to that garden, never grown her own roses, never nurture them, share them with her own children. 

The Rittenhouse roses would end with her. 

“I thought you would like it here,” Wyatt begins again, “no one really uses it- I think Michelle keeps it tidy, but it’s nice and quiet.” He rests his hand on his rapier, and kicks a wayward stone about the grass. He doesn’t look at her when he quietly says, “I’ve talked to Mason about letting you have it, I figured you needed somewhere for your own...” 

Lucy plucks a rose from the bush and turns to face Wyatt. He’s looking directly at her, gaze unwavering, watching her reaction carefully, guardedly assessing her every move. She smiles softly up at him, mulling over his words in her head, “you really asked for me?” 

“I- well, I thought,” Wyatt flounders, thrown off by her question, runs a hand through his hair as if his words are hidden in his locks. Lucy wonders how many times he practiced this conversation and whether he considered she might actually have anything to say. 

“Thank you” she looks down at the rose, saying this quietly. She knows she should look up and curtesy and look him in the eye when she thanks him, but this moment feels too heavy, too much. Her fingers gently stroke the white petal, soft and fragrant. Looking up again, she catches him smiling at her and she doesn’t try to stop the smile that grows on her face. 

She steps forward then, back towards him, the grass beneath her feet still slightly damp from the earlier rain. Wyatt hold still, his smile still there, but smaller, as if he can’t quite get rid of it. She knows the feeling. Her gut feels tight, but not with the nerves of being in a room full of strangers. Instead it’s butterflies about being alone with him. 

The air feels close, but Lucy is not sure if the weather is completely to blame. She feels on the edge of something, as she takes another step closer to Wyatt. He hold still, a slight frown on his face as he looks down at her. She takes another step towards him, crossing the invisible line from public to personal space. 

Lucy is quick, acting without thinking- without considering the consequences, a first- and gives him a peck of the cheek. He freezes. His stubble leaves her lips tingling. She wishes she could stop the inevitable blush from forming on her cheeks. 

His blue eyes catch her’s and she stops. A fox caught in the hen house, frozen and unsure of what the safest move will be. Freeze or fly. She keeps hold of the rose’s stem like a lifeline- it’s too easy to drown in his blue eyes. 

“You never answered my question” Wyatt says, his voice low, as if he is scared he’ll spook her. Lucy bites her lip and replies, “what question?”

“Your parents, where did they hide you all this time?” 

She sighs and pulls away. The moment moving on, onto the reason for their being together; their forced marriage, her parents. Turning, she walks to the seat in the middle of the rose garden and sits. She might as well be comfortable. 

“They took me and hid me in the middle of nowhere. A cottage on a large farm, with a generous farmer and his wife to keep an eye on us. It was the happiest time of my life.” She says this all to the rose, rather than to Wyatt. But he might as well know, being her husband and all. A sudden thought crosses her mind and she’s speaking again, “I’m not sure where exactly it was- but it was far enough that I didn’t see any bloodshed, or hear the cries of mourning mothers.” 

She says that to his face- looking him in the eye. Lucy needed to say it- the sentiment lurking in the back of her mind every time she looks at him. He always carries a weapon- like most men- but she knows this is not for show, this is a man who knows how to use a blade and use it well. 

Wyatt takes a step back from her. The previous butterflies leave her instantly. 

She just had to ruin the peace between them. One step forward, ten clumsy steps back. 

“What does that mean?” Wyatt asks, in a way that Lucy can tell he knows exactly what she means. Her jibe had hit its mark. 

“Really? You should know- you fought in the streets, you know how to use a sword. I am no fool, so don’t even try-” 

“Try what? I know what I am and what I did, and I stand by my actions. I was protecting my family and doing my job.” Wyatt’s voice is louder, no longer carrying the softness he had used before. 

“You killed innocent people. You’ve probably killed my cousins-” Lucy begins, but Wyatt cuts across, “I only killed those who were fighting. They knew what they were getting into.”

Lucy pauses, the fight gone out from her like cobwebs cleaned with a gust of wind. He is right- everyone went into the streets knowing what they would get into. But Wyatt doesn’t notice her deflate, and continues on. 

“And you can’t speak Princess, Rittenhouse have done far worse than anything we’ve done. You may have missed out on the worst parts-” he stops, looking down at her crestfallen face. “Got no defence Princess?” 

“I never said you were wrong. I just needed you to know.” 

With that, Lucy stands up and leaves the rose, and Wyatt, behind her. 


	11. Chapter 11

Wyatt doesn’t return to the house for a while after that. Quietly sulking about the grounds, kicking up rocks and flowers, and trying not to think about the wet sheen to Lucy’s eyes as she left.  She was right, he’s a killer; but he’s a soldier, it’s what they do. 

He weaves through the garden, kicking a stone aimlessly down the path. The ball has quieten down to a soft murmur, guests stumbling (and some cases, falling) into awaiting carriages. He can hear the musicians play on, but moving away from the lively jigs and seductive waltzes to tunes that indicated the end of the night. Wyatt avoids heading back to the ballroom. He doesn’t want to deal with Lucy’s sad face, or Rufus’ and Jiya’s questions.

Bed. Bed seemed like a good choice. It had been a long day, a longer evening, and hopefully that would mean a long night’s rest. 

Twisting to avoid a scurrying waiter, Wyatt climbs through the hallways and stairs to his end of the house. He pauses, however, at the door just before his; Lucy’s room. He looks at the heavy dark oak door. He doesn’t know if she’s in there, but he knows she won’t welcome his knock.

So, sighing, Wyatt turns and enters his room- grateful for the cool darkness. 

**\---**

He must have been asleep for only a handful of hours, at most, when he hears the scream from the room next to his, Lucy’s room. Wyatt doesn’t think as he rips out of the bed, grabbing his discarded sword from the floor next to his bed as he storms over to the door connecting their rooms. 

“Wyatt!” Lucy’s voice is loud and panicked. Wyatt slams into the door dividing their rooms. It’s locked, Wyatt’s momentum comes to a halt and he looks down at the handle, shaking it.

“Wyatt! Help-” Lucy’s voice is suddenly cut off and Wyatt sees red, slamming into the door with all his might. Eventually, what felt like eternity, the ancient lock gives way and Wyatt storms into the room. Standing over an unconscious Lucy is a man, brutish and large. He looms over her, a sword in his right hand, angled just so that tells Wyatt at once that he’s the reason Lucy is unconscious (as if his looming over her wasn’t enough of an indication). 

Wyatt doesn’t think, only moves. 

The man turns at the sound of the door being kicked down, swinging his sword wide. Wyatt ducks, kicking his leg out, hoping that the mountain of a man doesn’t fall on Lucy. He doesn’t, but he doesn’t fall either. The man stumbles, looking at Wyatt with an insulted expression, and moves to swing his sword once again. He swings up, Wyatt meets the sword with his own. 

The metal clangs, the man pushes down, snarling, spit flying. Wyatt pushes back. A stalemate of wills, of strength. Wyatt quickly ends it with a flick of his wrist and a shove, quickly moving to strike the man in the shoulder. His sword meets flesh, and the man cries out, but is not out of the game. He raises his sword and lunges at Wyatt’s abdomen. Wyatt twists out of its path, too focused to notice the blade’s edge slice a clean cut by his waist. 

Before the man can move his weapon further, Wyatt pushes up, through his chest. The man’s mouth opens, the air rushing out in a short quiet exhale, and then he was dead. 

Wyatt doesn’t watch the body fall, nor does he tend to his wounds. His bloodied sword drops to the floor with a clatter. Stumbling, he rushes to the still unconscious Lucy. She doesn’t respond to his hands gently picking her up off the floor, nor the almost reverent way his hand softly pushes her hair out of her face. 

“Lucy... hey Lucy, please,” he can’t stop touching her, holding her close to him in one arm while the other hold her face, his thumb sweeping over her cheek. He looks for any signs of bleeding or harm, but can find none but her lack of response. 

“You’re going to be ok” he tells her, taking his hand away from his face, steeling his determination. Wyatt picks her up, easily, and glances down at her once more- her face unmoved. “You’ll be ok.” 

As he leaves behind the bloodied murdered stranger, his distant wife in his arms, Wyatt still finds the mental capacity to curse himself for having asked for his rooms to be as far away as possible from the rest of the household.

**\----**

Lucy has a pounding headache. Her head is far heavier than when she went to bed. She keeps her eyes closed, breathing carefully through her nose to work through the haze.

One breath in. 

One breath out. 

One breath in. 

One breath out. 

Then the memory of the man in her room hits her, being dragged from her bed, her struggling worth nothing against the mountain of muscle. She remembers screaming. Screaming for Wyatt. 

She doesn’t know if she was rescued, or if the stranger succeeded in whatever it is that he wanted her for. Lucy keeps her eyes closed for a moment longer. Her pounding headache slowly subsides into a dull ache centering on the left side of her head. Slowly, her eyes open and she blinks at the surprising amount of light in the room. She doesn’t dare move, however, staring at the wooden beams darting across the ceiling. 

However, staying still and hoping whatever had happened would melt away leaving her be, was not an option. A door opens, and Christopher's disapproving voice, tinged with a motherly care that Lucy loves, rings out across the room, “Wyatt, you’re bleeding, why didn’t you say anything?” 

Lucy sits up at once, looking at Denise for a moment, before Wyatt is suddenly in her field of vision. Seeing his face once again, his eyes filled with concern, his hand hovering over her arm, Lucy breaks. The tears come uncontrollably, and, uncontrollably, Lucy grabs onto Wyatt for dear life, wrapping her arms thoughtlessly around his neck. The relief is too much.

Wyatt freezes at first, but then pulls her close, sitting on the edge of the bed she’s lying on. She feels him lightly place his cheek on her head, and feels him take a deep sigh. 

“As charming as this is,” Christopher's clear authoritative voice calls out to them, “you’re still bleeding Wyatt.”

Lucy pulls back looking up at Wyatt’s tense face, before looking down and see the blood oozing from his side, his shirt sticking to his skin. Lucy moves to get off the bed, but Wyatt instantly puts a hand out to stop her. 

“You shouldn’t be getting up- you got a nasty bump on the head” he says, low, concerned, it’s almost a whisper. 

“You shouldn’t be bleeding” Lucy counters, her voice equally low but harsher. She hopes he can read the concern in it. He saved her life- she’s sure of it, and now he’s risking an infection because of her too. 

His face softens, and he looks down at his own injury and, surprisingly, rolls his eyes. 

“It’s just a flesh wound- it’ll heal itself in no time.”

“You should let Christopher look at it”

Wyatt hesitates, hearing Lucy’s pleas. “For me, please?” Lucy can’t help ask, beg even. Wyatt looks at her for a moment longer, but then nods, pulling away from her. However, he stays sitting on the bed, but twists slightly away from her to watch Christopher march in, arms loaded with bandages and other supplies. Lucy eyes the supplies too, hopefully they won’t need them all, surely they won’t? 

Wyatt pulls off his shirt and Christopher gets to work, dipping some cloth in water and scrubbing at the dried blood. Unconsciously, Wyatt’s hand grips Lucy’s leg, he doesn’t look at her, his eyes distant, concentrating on something far from this room. 

They sit there, Christopher sternly cleaning and wrapping the wound like a frightful nanny. Lucy studies his face, the bags under his eyes, his tight jaw. Her gaze moves down to his shoulders, curled and replete with tension. His hand is gently wrapped around her leg, his thumb delicately swiping her blanketed leg. She concentrates on his hand when she asks, “what happened to him? The man who...who did this?” 

His thumb pauses, just for a second, and then resumes with more pressure than before. Lucy notices Christopher throw a worried glance up at Wyatt as she finishes wrapping the bandage around his middle. Christopher packs up her items, and Wyatt keeps quiet, not looking Lucy in the eye. 

“Don’t do anything reckless, at least not for a day” Christopher calls out to Wyatt as she leaves the room. Wyatt simply grunts in agreement, still not looking at Lucy. Once Christopher leaves them in the room, which Lucy recognises as Wyatt’s own, Wyatt speaks up, but continues to stare at the ground.

“He’s dead.” Wyatt’s voice is steady, “I killed him.” Only now does he dare a look at Lucy, who in turn, takes a deep shaky breath. She takes his hand, the one still clutching onto her leg, and looks at him to continue. “He tried to take you Lucy,” Wyatt’s voice is more urgent, desperate for her to understand, “he knocked you unconscious and was going to take you away- I couldn’t let him do that, wouldn’t.” He then pauses, considering his words as he runs a hand down his face with a deep sigh.

“I should have gotten there sooner- you wouldn’t be like this if I hadn’t just gotten there sooner.” He looks down at her once more before admitting, “I’d do again, if it meant you were kept safe.” He says this to her, staring right into her eyes, with a deep conviction, deciding then and there that he would keep her safe. 

Lucy didn’t know how to react. It’s a lot of her addled mind to digest really. He killed the man, the stranger that had snuck into her room in the dead of night. Wyatt had killed for her. This was no matter of a faraway fight, of figures she could distance herself from, a battle she only knew through whispers from widows and mourning mothers. This was her husband protecting her. Killing for her. 

He could have died for her too. 

Suddenly, it all feels too much. In this new home she can now navigate with her eyes closed, with this new family she now knows all too well, and this new husband who cares for her deeply, and who she is beginning to think about in…. In a new way. She cares for him, when she saw the blood she felt everything else drop- her head no matter, the heaviness of her limbs pushed aside for this bigger concern; for him.

Quickly, she drops his rough hand, and pulls him to her, hugging him close. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him close, and places her head on his chest. Wyatt doesn’t hesitate either, his arms enclosing around her, to which Lucy is overwhelmingly grateful. 

“Thank you” she whispers to him, keeping her eyes down, looking at the bandage wrapped around him tightly.  To which Wyatt simply replies, just as quietly, in passing as he places his cheek on her unruly brunette head, “anything.” 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments following the last chapter! Wasn't expecting as many as I got! Hope you enjoy this chapter- bit more of a filler but hopefully still enjoyable!

Wyatt can’t help himself- any chance, any moment he is near her, he can’t stop touching her. Ever since she hugged him with everything she had, his awareness of her has doubled, tripled. She enters a room and like a sixth sense, he turns to watch. 

Since the intruder a week ago, Wyatt finds himself making excuses to be near and with her; from helping her find the library and spending all afternoon in the stuffy room (despite the fact he is sure she knows how to navigate through the house now), to accompanying her on her walks throughout the surrounding countryside. 

Today, they are walking to some tenants south of the house, but close enough for them to walk there and back in a day. Lucy had asked to join Wyatt once she had heard of his intention to visit some South Eastern farmers. However she had requested that they walk, rather than ride. So, here they are, walking through the forest, the sunlight dappling through the ceiling of leaves over head. The air is cooler beneath the trees, which Wyatt is grateful for. 

If he is honest he would be more grateful if they were riding, they could get there in half the time and not have to worry about getting home before sundown and all those other problems that arose with walking. He’s also worried about whether or not he would end up carrying Lucy part of the way.

Not that he would complain if he had to. 

Unbidden images of her body close to his, curling around him, imagined sighs in his ears rushed to the forefront of his mind. It’s a quick but visceral thought that blindsides Wyatt. This is not the first time he had thought about his wife in such a manner. Undoubtedly, it would not be last. 

Instead, Wyatt concentrates on surveying their surroundings. There’s only trees as far as the eye can see. Beyond the well worn dirt path they walk down, there’s simply rows upon rows of trees. They look planted and well positioned, and it would be an easy mistake to assume such. While Mason is extravagant, he did not take pleasure in spending his money on trees. The endless trees are a feat of nature that Mason had chosen to respect. 

“So,” Wyatt begins, looking down at Lucy next to him, “why couldn’t we take the horses?” 

Lucy blushes and a guilty look forms on her face. Wyatt- distracted by her expression- misses her mumbled reply. 

“Sorry what?” 

“I said,” Lucy begins, louder this time, but looking ahead and avoiding his gaze, “I never learnt how to ride a horse.” She lets the omission hang in the air and twitches with the revelation, before bursting out, “There you know my secret!” She laughs slightly, but it's more embarrassed than humorous. 

“Here I thought every Princess could ride a horse,” Wyatt laughs softly, “couldn’t find time or-?” 

“The one time I did try, I was five and father put me on his horse. Of course such a horse is far too big to put a small child on,” she shrugs, glancing up at him. He nods in return. “So I fell off. I hit my head, and thus never went near the beasts again.” 

“The beasts?” 

She smiles, saying “well, as much as father says it was my fault for upsetting Ulysses, I maintain that it was the horse’s fault that I fell off” 

“I could teach you” Wyatt offers without hesitation. He knows nothing of side saddle, and other methods of ladies’ riding, but the smile she throws at him makes him think he could teach her easily. 

“Really? Oh you don’t have to, I know you’re busy with-” she waves her hand in the air as if the motion will signify to Wyatt all the work he does for Mason. A pause holds in the air for a moment, only the sounds of chirping birds and the crunch of wayward sticks under their feet as they continue their stroll. 

“It would be fantastic to be able to ride out for my work…” Lucy begins, her voice hopeful. 

“Your work?” Wyatt asks, confused. She’s the daughter of the most established families, and married into the most wealthy. She of all people does not need to work. Wyatt can’t help but feel a bit insulted, she shouldn’t  _ want _ to have to work. 

“Oh it’s not, well, it’s work, as in; I put in effort and I spend my time on it, so it’s  _ like _ work” she explains, flustered. 

“What are you doing? Exactly?” Wyatt stops, arms crossed, looking down at her. 

Lucy, who had continued to walk, stops and looks back at Wyatt. Her hands go instantly to the satchel wrapped around her. Interesting. He hadn’t paid attention to the satchel when they left- more concerned with making sure he had enough weapons on him to take out a small army,  but now the satchel was the most interesting item in the world. 

He walks towards her casually, eyes occasionally darting between the satchel and her face. Lucy doesn’t move, but she pulls the bag further away from him. She looks up at him as he stands in front of her, mere inches away. Her jaw is clenched, but her eyes hold a playful challenge. Wyatt smiles down at her, sweetly, innocently. 

Then lunges for the bag. 

Lucy lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a yell, pulling back and yanking the satchel with her. However, it’s hard to outmanoeuvre a soldier, and Wyatt soon has the satchel in his hands. The bag is still wrapped around Lucy, so in order to keep it somewhat out of her grasp, Wyatt pulls her closer. 

Yes, the bag is to blame for her nearness. 

Up close, almost chest to chest, he can see her cheeks flush, her eyes bright, and a pout on her lips. Her eyes locked onto his, and for a moment Wyatt forgets about the satchel. However, its weight can not be ignored. 

“This is pretty heavy for a quick trip to some farmers”

“It’s my work” 

At that Wyatt can’t help but be confused. What work would she be doing that could be contained in a bag… 

At his look of confusion, Lucy takes the strap off her body, and leads his hand holding the satchel down between them. Gently guiding his hand, and the satchel, into the right position, she opens the bag to reveal papers, all various sizes and thickness, wedged into a leather wrap, and a pot of ink and a quill. 

“My work,” she says softly, “is this.” 

Wyatt doesn’t dare breathe out of turn, her hand still resting slightly on his that holds the bag. She looks down at the papers reverently. 

“I write the people’s stories- farmers, servants, bakers, anyone. Their life, their happiest moments, their struggles. About what stories their parents told them, and their parent’s parents. I get as many memories as I can and put them all here.” 

“That’s…” Wyatt isn’t sure what to say, so he keeps to his honesty, “I’ve never heard of people listening to farmers or anyone other than, well themselves I guess.” 

“I thought their stories should be remembered, recorded. There’s decades of court accounts and whisperings but nothing beyond church records for so many.” 

They stand there in the woods, watching the papers between them ruffle as a gentle breeze dances through. Wyatt carefully closes the satchel and takes the strap, carefully placing it over Lucy, as respectfully as one would crown a queen. 

“You should show it to Mason” he suggests, beginning to walk again. 

“I don’t know, it’s just my scribblings really” 

“No Lucy, he’d be interested- no one else is doing this, no one else is showing this much care to his tenants.” Wyatt kicks a stone as they amble along, “for all his  _ unique _ behaviour, Mason cares about those on his land, those in his home.” He looks her directly in the eyes, “he’d love this” 

“Ok"

**\---**

They reach the South Eastern farmers by midday; making good time, despite their brief interlude in the woods. Wyatt reluctantly leaves Lucy with the farmer and his wife, armed with her quill and paper. He goes to meet the men stationed on the farmer’s land. 

They have no more to report than the last time Wyatt had made a quick trip down. The rebels were gone. One man mentions seeing the rebels talk to a woman in black, but that could have been anyone. Aside from that, there is no new information.  Wyatt isn’t quite ready to let the issue of the South Eastern rebels pass. They came out of nowhere, they fought tooth and nail, but after a week or so were easily overran and fled. There were no messages of meaning behind their fight and uprising. It’s as is they were conjured out of nothing and once again were returned to nothing. 

He returns to Lucy, staying with the farmer and his wife for a light meal. Lucy is gracious throughout, helping in anyway she can (to the point where the farmer’s wife declares she must sit down and do nothing). Throughout the meal, Lucy still takes notes, adding to what she had already written as the conversation flows. 

Wyatt’s happy to sit back and watch, his wife beside him beaming as she scribbles.


	13. Chapter 13

Weeks passed, and Wyatt and Lucy spent more time together. Lucy had gotten used to his presence quickly, so when he was away- with other soldiers, with his grandfather, or on solo errants- she found herself missing him.

They would talk about everything and nothing. She avoided talking too much about her parents, he did the same. She would talk about her work, he would ask her more about it, knowing that his work would just spark another argument. But, Lucy was growing to know this man who happened to be her husband; this man who made decisions quickly (to the point of stupidity at times) but who also cared so softly.

Lucy finds herself missing Wyatt most at social functions. Mason’s latest decorative endeavor had come to fruition; the banquet hall. The hall had been rejuvenated for the autumn; filled with dark woods, a larger fire place than before, and long sturdy tables decorated with cloths of warm browns, reds, and golds.

Lucy sits at the head table, looking out at the hundreds of guests that have come to feast. Rufus had told her not to worry, it would be an intimate gathering of only close friends and families. Mason had a lot more friends than Lucy thought was possible for a person to have. It’s technically a smaller gathering than a ball, but Lucy can feel the weight of nerves nestle into her gut.

Wyatt had left three days ago, promising to be back in time. It was meant to be another reconnaissance effort. Wyatt’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to the South Eastern rebels, he can’t just accept that they had vanished, that the issue is over. So, off he went, leaving her only with a quick kiss on the top of her head and a soft hug.

“Lucy” Jiya, to her right, softly whispers, asking, “are you alright? You’ve been staring at your meat for the last ten minutes”

“Oh! I, I was just thinking, you know- lost in thought.” Lucy quickly latches onto another conversation, shifting attention away from herself,  “anyway- how was the latest dosage- Rufus mentioned some good signs…”

With that, Jiya set off, exclaiming and explaining her and Rufus’ latest experiment: an attempt at treating the common cold. Jiya’s passion was overflowing, but Lucy’s attention was waning. Despite all of their lectures and her reading, Lucy is still unable to keep up with their experiments. All she knows is to keep encouraging them.

As her attention wanders, Lucy notices a figure across the hall, sitting with her parents (any event no matter how big or small, Rittenhouse are invited).

No, they wouldn’t have brought him.

They shouldn’t have brought him. Her father may not be able to see past his own nose at times, but it’s simply stupid to bring him here. The peace depended upon-

“Lucy!” Jiya waves a hand in front of her face, cutting off her view of the figure. Lucy looks back to Jiya with an apologetic smile. But before she can give an explanation for her lack of focus, the figure she had been looking at, the man she had forgotten about for so long, a man she never thought she’d see again, appears before her.

“Lucy! It’s been so long, too long” Noah bows, a smile plastered on his handsome face. He’s grown since she last saw him. But Lucy has grown too, she stands from her chair and looks him in the eye. She’s no longer a child, alone and terrified. It also helps to have Sherwin, the head of Mason’s army, quietly by her side, staying in his seat, but watching the interaction closely.

“Sir Noah, I’m surprised by your attendance. I wasn’t made aware you’d be joining us this evening.”

“It was a last minute invite, from your mother actually. I’m just back from my tour- I’ll have to show you one of the paintings I got in-”

“Perhaps another time you can tell me about it” Lucy cuts in quick, his friendliness an insult to her. “I’m sure my mother is missing your company” She looks over at her mother who is too busy quietly arguing about something with her father. Lucy can feel the panic rise up in her throat, she looks from her mother to Noah, then she senses Sherwin rise next to her, placing his hands on the table.

“Sir, I hate to interject, but I require Lady Logan’s attention on a matter of importance.” Sherwin doesn’t wait for Noah’s reply, instead turning to Lucy and offering his arm, “shall we?”

Lucy takes it with a shaky hand,  forcing a polite smile onto her face to Noah. She lets Sherwin lead her out from the banquet hall, away from the noise, and more importantly, away from Noah. They reach a courtyard, the moon over head illuminating the fountain that sits in its centre. Sherwin gently drops his arm and Lucy steps away.

“Thank you, really you shouldn’t have had to do that”

“Ah it’s alright”, Sherwin ganders over to the fountain, carefully lowering himself down and sitting on its edge. Lucy forgets how old this powerful man is- having worked with the Mason family for generations, he is an constant, an ever fixed part of the household, that makes his age seem somewhat irrelevant.

“Wyatt asked me to keep an ear out for you- only doing what I’m told”

Lucy can’t help the smile that grows at that, it’s a small shy smile. “Well, thank you.”

The fountain gurggles and there’s a soft hum of the banquet down the corridors. Lucy watches the leaves fall gently from the trees. Summer is waning, its heat finally letting go and the autumnal chill is beginning to pull in.

“You know,” Sherwin begins, looking at the leaves fall, “Wyatt’s a good man. He can be as thick as a bull at times, as stupid as a boy, but” he sighs, trying to find his words. Lucy looks down at him. “He’s a good man, through and through.” Sherwin waves a hand dismissively at his heartfelt declaration (of which Lucy is sure the man doesn’t make many). “I know you kids didn’t ask for this- any of it, but you should know that about him.”

“I know Wyatt is.”

Sherwin doesn’t look at her as he continues, instead his gaze hovers in the middle distance, his mind lost to memories. “He’s tough. After his mother died, God rest her soul, and his good for nothing Father left him… well he had to tough it out for a year or so before I found him. He was only a child but he had already seen so much. Too much.”

Lucy stays quiet, Sherwin’s admission washing over her. He doesn’t say anymore, instead mulling over the memories. Lucy can only imagine what a young Wyatt did, had to do, before his grandfather found him.

“Wyatt’s a good man. I know he is, completely.” she says softly, a gentle breeze once again pulling a small portion of leaves down. She watches one sway down into the fountain, landing gently on its surface.

“You know I’m what?”  a familiar voice calls out across the courtyard.

Lucy spins and is faced with a tired Wyatt.  His hair is sticking out at haphazard angles, his stubble thicker than usual, and his jacket covered in mud and dust from his journey. Lucy has never been so grateful to see him, she doesn’t hesitate when she runs over to give him a hug. He lets out a small ‘oof’ as she collides with him, wrapping him as close as possible, pulling him in tightly, as if he’d disappear again lest she let go.

Wyatt rights himself and reciprocates, pulling his right arm around her, splaying his hand on her back. He gently places a kiss on the crown of her head, and holds his head there for a moment. Lucy feels herself unwind. She takes another deep breath and steps back, looking up at him with a shy smile. She thinks of him as a child for a moment, persistent against a cruel world.

“You still have to tell me what I am” he smiles down at her, his loopy grin making the butterflies reappear in her stomach. Her smile grows.

“I’ll let Mason know your back” Sherwin calls out from behind her. Lucy had forgotten he was there. Before either herself or Wyatt can respond, he’s gone, scuttling through the arches, out of the courtyard and back to the banquet hall.

Lucy returns her attention to the man in front of her, whose arm is still wrapped around her.

“When did you get back?”

“Honestly, about ten minutes ago”

“It shows” she laughs and he chuckles in reply. The soft laughter subsides, and Wyatt asks, close to a whisper, as if to speak aloud will alert the world of their moment of contentment. “So, Princess, you miss me?”

Lucy could make a joke, push him away- to prevent him getting too close and tangled in the mess of her life, but she finds herself wanting to be ernest. So she replies, equally quiet, “yes.”

It’s not the response Wyatt was expecting, but one is he more than happy with, as his loopy smile grows into a smirk. He doesn’t say anything in reply, just gently places the bag Lucy didn’t realise he was holding, onto the ground. With the same hand, he moves a wayward strand of hair from her face, ruffled from its rightful spot by the cool night breeze. He keeps his hand there, on her cheek.

They move unconsciously closer, an inevitable collision, the pull of gravity from the other too strong to resist. Not that either wanted to. Lucy’s eyes flutter close, she’s past thinking, simply doing what feels right.

“Wyatt!”

Lucy doesn’t stop the frustrated sigh that blows out of her. She turns around and Wyatt drops his hands from her face, releasing a similar frustrated noise.

“Rufus!” Wyatt replies, his voice somewhat deeper and croaky. He coughs and tries again, “Rufus- what do you want?”

Rufus walks across the courtyard towards them, but stops halfway, as if only now seeing their close position. However, the moment is gone and reality has caught up.

“Sherwin said you were back, and well- I think you might be needed in the hall. Mason is talking about the South Eastern pass with Cahill. _Again_.” Rufus is obviously frustrated, and looks to Wyatt for help.

Wyatt steps back from Lucy, picking up his abandoned bag once more. “Ok, I need to change I’ll be down in a minute” Rufus quickly turns and leaves them. Wyatt runs a hand down his face, taking a deep breath.

“I won’t be more than a couple of minutes, you should get back”

Lucy simply nods, trying to keep her gaze from his lips. He says nothing else, looking torn for a moment, but then with another disappointed sigh, leaves her to rush to his chambers.

Lucy watches him go and then looks to the fountain once more, it’s rush of water soothing her still quick beating heart.

**\---**

It’s close to midnight and Lucy cannot sleep. She had left the banquet, full and content, more than happy to curl up in her blankets and forget about her encounter with Noah. However, as soon as she lay down, she woke up.

Staring at her ceiling she can’t get thoughts of Noah out of her head. He had grown so much, yet her memory of him always painted him as big anyway. Tall and lean, a charming carnivorous smile that just wanted to eat you up.

Lying there, forcing deep breaths into her nose and out of her mouth, Lucy tries counting sheep. However any time she closes her eyes, conjuring up images of white fluff jumping over stack of hay, there’s always a wolf lurking nearby.

Lucy sits up and considers lighting a candle and working more on her notes. They’ve expanded so much since coming to Mason- and since Mason commissioned her for the work. But she knows she won’t be able to give them the concentration they deserve. She surveys her room, searching for a distraction, but she has little to amuse her here. She finds herself looking at the door diagonal to her bed.

The door to Wyatt’s room.

She lies back down quickly, taking her eyes off the door and onto her ceiling. She hasn’t been in Wyatt’s room since their wedding. When she held him so close. When he held her so close. They barely knew each other but somewhere in the depth of themselves they knew to keep each other close.

She sits up again, almost tripping over herself with the speed of which she scrambles from her bed. With her heart in her throat, Lucy pounces over to the door, racing against herself. Quickly she knocks on the door.

She’s only wearing a nightgown. Not as scandalous as her wedding night gown, but still, some decorum should be in order. Glancing between the door and her dressing robe, she darts and grabs it. She stumbles back over to the door, shoving her arm into the long sleeve, as Wyatt rushes to open the door.

They stare at each other for a moment; Lucy’s arm half in the dressing gown, Wyatt naked from the waist up. His hair is up at angles, his eyes are blinking heavily. Guilt prickles her bravery as she realises that she’s woken up him from his much needed rest.

“Are you ok?” he asks quietly, holding onto the door and looking down at her, face full of concern as he slowly wakes up.

“I…” She looks up at his sleepy eyes, “I’m sorry- I’ll, I’ll go- you need to sleep” She finishes putting on her dressing gown, wrapping it tightly around her middle, and tying it with a double knot, as if it would keep her reigned in.

“C’mon Luce,” Wyatt yawns, scratching the back of his head, “you’ve woken me up you might as well tell me what’s wrong”

“Oh- it can wait until tomorrow”, or never.

“I’m up now, you have to tell me” Wyatt asserts, crossing his arms. Lucy frowns, not liking being told what to do. But he’s here, and his eyes hold a charm and a glint of humour that tells her she’s safe. And she did wake him up.

Lucy lets the unknown feeling of bravery lead her on, and she crosses the threshold, brushing past Wyatt. His room is warm, the fire still filled with flickering embers. His heavy curtains shut out the moonlight and so Lucy’s eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. She hears Wyatt quietly close the door behind her.

She goes to a chair, large, lumpy, and broken in, and flops unceremoniously into it. Wyatt leans against a poster of his bed, looking down at her with a small smile.

“So, you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Lucy sighs, realising she quite literally walked herself into this. “I, well, I guess you should know.” Wyatt cocks his head at her admission, but says nothing more. Lucy takes a shaky breath and begins.

“Noah was here tonight. At the banquet. I thought he wasn’t allowed back at Rittenhouse, but apparently his family’s riches are worth more to my parents than the memory of his daughter.”

“You?”

“No, my sister.”

Wyatt looks shocked at her admission, but says nothing as he sits down onto his bed. He looks at her to continue. Lucy does.

“He, Noah, had tried to… woo me” Lucy looks down at her hands, tangled together nervously in her lap. “He was sweet, really. Well, as sweet as a young man can be I suppose. I didn’t know any better. However, I was reluctant. I didn’t want to… give anything away, not until I had a ring.” She smiles tensely, glancing up at Wyatt who hasn’t taken his eyes off her for a second. She returns her gaze back to her hands.

“I was apparently too much work, and he was impatient. I didn’t know what for, I thought we were happy with our smiles and flirting. I was naive. Then my sister, only a year or so younger than me, started to get his attention.” She stops, taking a deep breath, before continuing. “He tried once more with me, one last push, but I didn’t relent- thank goodness- but Amy...Amy wasn’t so lucky.”

She looks up at Wyatt, tears in her eyes, and shakily admits, “they found her a few days later in a disused stable. My father concluded it was an abduction gone wrong, he didn’t listen to me at all. She was a child. A girl who- who could easily be lead away.” Lucy’s breath is haggard, coming in and out in stutters and shudders.

“I wasn’t expecting him tonight. While in the eyes of my father he is forgiven, I certainly haven’t forgotten.” Lucy can feel the tears falling down her face, but she’s already cried so many tears for Amy, a girl whose life was taken too, far too, soon. Instead she feels rage, she feels the injustice of it all.

Wyatt stands up and walks over to her. Gently he kneels before her, taking her hands in his. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t offer her false promises, or soothing sounds, instead he offers comfort, the comfort of his presence, the comfort of his solidity, the comfort to know that her, and Amy’s, story has been heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooo the drama continues.... 
> 
> Thanks so much for all the kudos, comments, and what not! Let me know what you thought of this chapter :D


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... thought I'd post the chapter early this week after the news...

Lucy isn’t sure when she fell asleep. Her and Wyatt had continued talking quietly for an hour or so after her tears had dried and her breathing returned to normal. She started to feel heavy, her eyelids struggling against the inevitable. She attempted to fight against Wyatt’s insistence she take his bed, but she lost. Despite her own bed being right through the door, he persisted, and she was too tired to keep on arguing.

Lucy is woken by a slight shake. Peeling her eyes open, she sees Wyatt crouched in front of her, his finger to his lips. Seeing she’s awake, he steps back, picking up a dagger from his bedside table. Gently, he places the hilt in her hands. He silently urges her to take it. She does. 

Lucy is trying to keep up, but she has too many questions. Wyatt turns and grabs his sword. She then hears the sounds from the other room, the crash of a bookcase being pushed to the floor, the rip of curtains. Someone is looking for her. She grabs onto Wyatt’s hand wordlessly, and grips the dagger tightly in her other hand. 

Through the dark, they silently make their way out of his room. However, they do not make it out very far. Only mere feet away from Wyatt’s door, a shout comes from behind them, deep and terrifying.

“Give her up- we won’t do her no harm” 

“Lucy”, Wyatt calmly says to her, manoeuvring her in front of him. 

“We just doing what needs to be done” the man calls out again, coming out of the shadows. “She has to come back to-”

“You need to run now!” Wyatt gives Lucy a push towards one of the corridors, while he pivots, raising his sword over his head to strike at the stranger. 

Lucy stumbles, tripping over her own feet and almost stabbing herself with the dagger. She can heard the clash of swords, the grunt of exertion, and the heavy breath of effort from the two fighters. She doesn’t know what to do- frozen in the face of violence and the threat of death. However, Lucy knows there is no use her staying put; Wyatt needs her help. 

He told her to run, but she can’t leave him. 

Lucy turns, to face the danger, and spots Wyatt as his sword is knocked out of his hands. 

The sword arches through the air lands, clattering angrily against the stone pavings. Wyatt quickly works to dodge the intruder’s blade, who quickly takes advantage of the situation. Wyatt can only move so quick and the sword catches his lower abdomen in a long arch. Wyatt clutches onto the bleeding cut with one hand, and grabs an unlit candle stick with another. 

Lucy doesn’t realise she cries out for him, but she pulls herself together, running towards his sword. But it’s on the opposite end of the hallway, she’d need to get through the fight to get to it.

Wyatt stumbles, losing his temporary weapon. He falls to the ground, looking up at his adversary. Wyatt continue to clutch his gut, blood slowly oozing out onto his forearm, staining it.

“I was only here to get the girl” the man mutters, taking his time to walk over to Wyatt, raising his sword as he moves. 

Time seems to slow and Lucy acts at once. The dagger slides across the floor and Wyatt grabs it, quickly rolling up and with all his strength, plunges it into the man’s thick neck. A breath of air huffs out, and before he can reach up, or really react, the intruders crumbles to the ground; reduced to a heap of empty muscle.

Then Wyatt collapses back to the ground, struggling against unconsciousness as the battle is won and danger is gone. Lucy runs to his side, unsure what to do. Gently, she wraps her hands around his face, his eyes blinking heavily. 

“Wyatt, you- you need to stay with me” Lucy can feel tears running down her face, but she just lets them slide down her cheeks, dribble over her chin and down her neck. 

“I” Wyatt begins, breathing labouring against waves of pain, “told you… to run” 

“I couldn’t” Lucy keeps holding him, and opens her mouth to continue, but there is nothing else to say. His breathing fills the corridor, echoing off the cool stone slabs. He feels warm though. She wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer. Her other hand skims his cheek, his stubble scratching her palm. 

She can’t carry him, and she doesn’t know if she can move him, if she could dare risk it. Wyatt’s eyes shutter close, and Lucy gently places a kiss on his lips, soft but unresponsive, praying that someone else heard the fighting echo through the house. 

\---

Wyatt wakes with someone gently running their fingers through his hair. The fingers are light, raking through his hair, pulling softly at the longer pieces, skimming over the shorter. It’s intimate and achingly affectionate. Wyatt holds still a little longer, stretching out his blissful ignorance, letting this bubble away from the rest of the world go on a bit longer. If this is heaven, then Wyatt won’t question it.

However, the ache across his abdomen can no longer be ignored. He opens his eyes slowly, taking in a breath as he looks around the room. The room- a guest chamber lacking in any personal items to indicate a permanent owner- is dark save for a candle by the door. Wyatt is in a large double bed, his head supported by pillows. His torso is wrapped in bandages, and a blanket is gently laid on top of him. 

The fingers in his hair keep on their rhythm, ignorant of his awakening. He sighs loudly, and the fingers in his hair stop. He feels a shift in the mattress next to him. Turning his head, Wyatt sees Lucy looking down at him, face blotchy from crying, eyes filled with tears unspilled. 

“Wyatt? Are you ok?” Lucy asks softly, as if she too can sense the strange cosy bubble they are in.  “No, wait, don’t answer that, you’re definitely not ok. How are you feeling?” 

“I’ve had better days” 

Wyatt’s voice is croaky but Lucy smiles down at him, so he doesn’t mind. 

“I would hope so, but really,” her face falls, “how much pain are you in? I can get Christopher- or Rufus, he said he’s got something-”

“I’m not letting Rufus use me as a guinea pig for whatever it is he’s made.” Wyatt blinks heavily, “I’ll be fine- just need some time that’s all.” 

“Are you sure? I can at least get you some food or something” Lucy still looks worried, and Wyatt desperately doesn’t want her to look like that- feel like that. He pulls himself up, holding in a breath tightly, working past the shot of pain, and placing his back against the mount of pillows he assumes Lucy had put under his head.

He looks back at her and says, “Thank you” 

“Wyatt,” she breaths, “you saved my life I should be thanking you” 

“I’m your husband, it’s my job to keep you safe” He says it as a statement of fact, packing as much sincerity as he can within the simple sentence. Suddenly it is of great importance that she understands that he will keep her safe no matter what. He doesn’t want to linger on the why behind that feeling, but instead focuses on Lucy, his eyes not daring to leave her’s for a second. 

She looks at him as if he had given her the moon. She moves forward. He takes a breath in. Her lips crash onto his with an untamed enthusiasm tinged with a slight nervous energy. It’s sweet, Lucy’s lips soft as a petal. Lucy pulls back for a moment, looking at his face with a questioning look. 

He doesn’t hesitate, and dives back in.  His hands divide, one goes to her waist, curling around the soft fabric of her plain cotton gown. His other hand going to the base of her neck, fingers spilling between her head and her neck, his thumb grazing her jaw. Her hands go to his face, skimming over his cheekbones, his stubble. Her kiss is eager, her hands pulling at him impatiently; closer, closer. He can’t help the smile that pulls at his cheeks. 

He can only keep it chaste for so long, and soon closed lips is not enough. He feels possessive and with a teasing skim of his tongue, she grants him what he wants. Lucy lets out a sigh and Wyatt captures it. 

She pulls back, and like a puppy desperate for attention, Wyatt blindly follow her. Lucy lets out a laugh; her face flushes and her lips swollen. Wyatt smiles back, catching his breath, watching her blush more under his gaze. She places her forehead against his and he breathes her in; a mix of roses and something that makes him think of stacks of old books. 

“I should really let the physician look at you though” she says after a moment, not moving away from him. Wyatt just hums back, wondering if she will actually move, or if he can get another kiss. However, Lucy is determined and pulls away. Wyatt frowns, looking up at her as she runs her hand through her hair and moves off the bed. 

He can only watch as she rounds to his side of the bed and looks down at him, placing a hand on his cheek. 

“I won’t be long” 

Before he can reply, she gives him a peck, well- longer than peck, but not as long a kiss Wyatt would have liked. Before things can take a more interesting turn, she pulls back and smiles down at him. 

“Behave” 

“I’m trying ma’am, but you’re not making it easy” 

She laughs as she leaves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwww... I just want to give a big thank you for all the kudos and comments! Hearing how much you guys are enjoying this fanfic is so great and it's so nice being part of a passionate and nice fandom. Special shout out to tumblr user 'its-been-you-all-along' who made me freak out by kinda mentioning my fic in a post- it threw me completely and made my day; the first time i've ever seen someone vaguely talk about a fic outside of Ao3. Sometimes I forget it's actual people reading this! 
> 
> #savetimeless


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments- this past week or so I was sent some of the nicest comments ever and they truly meant the world so thank you! <3 Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Lucy spends the next few weeks stuck to Wyatt’s side. He is bed bound for ten days- moaning and grumbling the whole time. But with stern looks from herself, Christopher, and Michelle, he stays put (but she can easily imagine him bounding out of the bed the first chance he got, if she wasn’t there.) 

During this time, Lucy works on her notes, trying to create order out of chaos. Wyatt helps, from time to time, reading out her scribbles so she can transcribe them into a more legible version. At times he’ll pause and add in further information- what battle could have been happening at the same time, what the Mason family was doing during this time, or mentioning that Rufus probably knows more about a topic. Slowly they made their way through her work. 

Once the physician’s prescribed ten days are up, Wyatt can no longer be held back. However, as much as she senses he wanted to otherwise, Wyatt listens to her pleas to take it easy and approaches his return to training with care. He doesn’t spend so many hours with a sword in hand as he used to, instead walks with Lucy. 

“I was thinking” he announces, looking down at her. Lucy simply hums in response, pulling her cloak around her more as a cool breeze blows past. They wander aimlessly through the quiet grounds, the trees above them brilliant shades of copper and gold. 

“I was thinking,” Wyatt begins again, “that maybe, maybe we should have a house of our own?” Lucy looks up at him, her attention fully on his suggestion. 

“I think Mason has enough room in his household for us- we don’t take up too much space.” Lucy replies, unsure. 

“No, it’s not that.” Wyatt stops, turning to face Lucy, adjusting his arm to catch her hand in his own. “With everything that has happened, the intruders, threats, I think it’s the safest option."

“I don’t know Wyatt, Mason has a whole military on his property” 

“They’re no use when they all sleep on the other side of the house” Wyatt puffs out some air in frustration, blowing some of his hair out of his face. He clutches onto Lucy’s hands, his left thumb rubbing her hand softly, whether intentionally or not, Lucy isn’t sure. “I want to keep you safe. Please,” his voice is quieter, begging for her to let him, “let me keep you safe.” 

“If you think it’s right...” Lucy begins muling his suggestion over in her head for a moment, getting a feel for the mere idea of a house of her own. But ultimately it is not the idea of a home to make her own, nor a library to fill with her own books that wins her over. “I trust you.” 

Wyatt’s smile in return is small, hopeful, “I won’t let you down Luce.” One of his hands moves from hers to her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone, “I promise.” His voice and gaze are so sincere, Lucy feels a bit overwhelmed. Never before has she felt so… so cared for? No it wasn’t that, her mother cared for her (even to the point of working to prevent the marriage). This is a deeper feeling, something that came from her very soul- his soul if she were so bold to presume. She trusts him now, the man who represented the enemy, the man who saved her life twice, risked his life for her without asking for anything in return, that she only save herself. 

Lucy is saved from having to reply, or consider the emotions, when she catches Wyatt looking at her lips. She smiles and, with more gusto than may have been necessary, she pulls on his cloak, her lips crashing on his. She smiles at his slight shock, which he overcomes by slowly weaving his fingers through her hair. He gently tilts and angles their heads just so. He slows them down, softly, sweetly. The kiss is filled with... _ that _ emotion again. It wasn’t the relief filled first kiss they shared, one that sprang from Lucy’s joy at his awakening. This was languid, a stolen moment alone in the woods. She clung to his cloak as if her life depended on it. 

They pull apart, breathing deep, faces flushing against the cool air. Wyatt still holds her head in his hands. He smiles as he gently placing a peck on her swollen lips before letting go. 

“We can move next week- Mason has had the house ready for us for some time” 

“So you’ve had this up your sleeve this whole time” Lucy laughs, taking his hand and pulling him along, restarting their walk. 

“I didn’t want to move until you agreed, it’s not fair- your life has changed so much already, I don’t know...just thought I should ask first.” 

Lucy pulls herself to his side and squeezes his arm, “thank you, that means a lot.” 

They continue on their walk, a smattering of leaves crunching under their feet, chatting about the house. Lucy concedes that they can have some purple curtains, but draws the line at a violet rug.

\--- 

They move to a house that is still on Mason land- a quick ride away, but far enough to warrant their own set of guards. Wyatt is apprehensive the whole move, constantly consulting his grandfather about the men he had drafted, who should be Lucy’s guardsmen, whether there should be more. Sherwin took his somewhat unnecessary questions in stride, acting more as a sounding board than a source of answers, letting his grandson make the final decisions. 

When Wyatt takes Lucy down to the house, he thinks he’s going to be sick. He had left the decorating choices to her- Michelle said it’s important for a wife to make a house a home, and well, Wyatt had to believe her, with no other womanly source to tell him otherwise. However, this is the first time she is seeing the house completed, furnished, and ready for her to spend her days in. 

He walks her up the entrance, watching her reaction carefully. The house is certainly much, much smaller than Mason’s house- for one thing it’s actually a house rather than a sprawling mess of continually expanding architecture. The new Logan household was warm and inviting- fitted with amenities at no extra expense; large fires, oak surfaces, soft furnishings. 

They walk through the large oak doors and are met by the servants, only a couple to keep the house ticking- not the flotilla needed at Mason’s home. Lucy stops to talk to each of them, asking for their names, about their duties, any issues they have had thus far. Wyatt is sure she’ll remember everything they say, and will probably be back to them in a week or so with her paper and ink and a list of questions. 

Wyatt keeps a lid on his excitement, giving her as much time as she needs to make her way through the introductions. Once she reaches the end of the line, he leads her hastily up the stairs and down a corridor. Quick left, up a small flight of stairs, and then stops in front of a small unassuming door. 

“Where are you-” 

“Close your eyes” Wyatt asks, his excitement akin to a child at Christmas, threatening to overflow at any point. Lucy smiles sweetly and closes her eyes, trusting blindly. Wyatt’s heart swells, relishing in her freely given trust.  He takes her hand and opens the door, leading her into the tower room, thankful that the sun is in just the right spot. He manoeuvres her slightly, making sure she’s at the right angle. 

“Should I be worried? My eyes have been closed an awful long time” she teases. 

“Ok, ok…” he stands behind her, hands on her shoulders. He lets go as he tells her, “open your eyes”

Lucy blinks her eyes open, and looks at the library. 

While she worried about sofas and tables, Wyatt had consulted Jiya and Rufus on which books he should fill the room with. It might not be as big as Mason’s but it is her library. The room, like Mason’s, is a tower, with bookshelves encircling the room. However, the sunlight shines through a large curved window, at the centre of which is a coloured pane glass window- a pattern of swirling colours. It doesn’t depict any particular scene, but when the light hits it just so, it throws patches of colour across the room, yellows on the sofa, purples on the wall, reds on the floor. Lucy stands still and for a moment Wyatt is worried, maybe he shouldn’t have hidden this from her, maybe she would have preferred to make this her own, like the gardens and the parlours.

He couldn’t resist though, the allure of her surprise and of her potential delight, was too much of a temptation. 

“I- I don’t know what to say” Lucy begins, looking around the room, her eyes scanning the shelves rapidly. She pivots to face him, “thank you!” She launches a hug at him, her arms around his neck and pulling him close as she can through his layers of cloak and coat. Wyatt is helpless but to hug back, one hand cradling her neck, the other wrapping around her waist. 

“You like it? Really?” he asks, pulling away gently, “I wasn’t sure if the-” 

“I love it. I love all of it.” she concludes, cutting off his doubts, his arguments on the pros and cons of the room. They stand there for a moment longer, arms around each other. Lucy admires the room more, and Wyatt admires her; the way the purple light hits her face, giving her an ethereal glow.

\---

Later that evening, after dinner, Wyatt stands in his new room (which felt almost the exact same as his old one, including his old bed and reliable lumpy chair) facing the door to Lucy’s room. He stood staring at the polished handle, wondering if it will move, wondering whether he should knock and- and what? He had no reason to, they had said their goodnights; Lucy had sent him a sweet teasing smile before leaving for her room. 

That smile, god, he can’t get it out of his mind. He hadn’t kissed her in some time, preferring to let her initiate each moment. He liked that she leapt to the chance, but at times his chivalrous decision left him in moments like this, on the edge, dying from lack of touch. 

Determinedly, he turns his head away from the door and walks over to his bed. However, his intentions to focus on sleep, do not come to mind as he approaches the bed. So, he turns, sharp and tight like a toy soldier and walks towards the chair in the corner. He might as well be a toy soldier, wound just as tight. 

Wyatt looks at the door again. 

He has no reason to knock, to check on her, to place his lips on her’s, to place his lips on her- 

No. No don’t go down that rabbit hole of imagination. Not that it would be the first time his mind had such thoughts. However, more often than not, Wyatt flew by the seat of his pants (for lack of a better phrase). He stands at the door and knocks. 

He holds his breath and Lucy opens the door. 

She’s dressed in that damn night gown. That damn wedding night gown that he was sure his drink addled brain had conjured up. No, it is definitely real. It is right in front of him in all its glory. Wyatt’s sure he’s been staring at her for a century, and can’t help but forcibly drag his eyes up her form, taking in every peak of pale skin like a man drowning. 

He would happily drown in her. 

When he reaches her face, he is met with a bashful smile and a blush. Lucy looks up at him shyly, holding the door open in one hand, the other braces herself against the door frame. They regard each other for a moment. There’s tension in the air, taut and ready to snap. 

He crashes his lips on her’s, hands going to her waist, her back, pulling her closer, closer, closer. They aren’t close enough. Lucy meets his enthusiasm with her own abundance of passion; pulling at his head, his hair. They’re messy and rough, pulling at one another, desperate, seeking something, wanting each other closer, and closer still. 

Gently, he pushes her towards the door frame. Nipping at her lips, Wyatt knows he should stop, knows he should step back. So, he begins to pull back, but Lucy chases him, sighing, “Wyatt..” He stops he retreat, keeping his hands fused her her waist, and looks down at her.  She’s mused, flushed, and looking at him with lust filled eyes. 

“Lucy,” his voice is hoarse, “are you...are you sure?” 

She looks down for a moment, and Wyatt tries to get his breathing under control. She’s going to say no and he is going to walk away. And then maybe take a swim in the freezing lake. 

“Yes, I’m sure” she looks up again, determined and certain. Her decision is made and she pulls him down for a gentle kiss. He smiles against her lips before ducking down to slide his arms beneath her thighs. She squeals, and braces her arms on his shoulders. 

“Your bed or mine?” Wyatt asks, looking up at her. Lucy’s hair falls down, creating a curtain around their faces. She bites her lip, considering the pros and cons of the decision, before concluding, “your bed”

He twirls and she laughs, her hands on his shoulders. 


	16. Chapter 16

Lucy wakes up with a pair of arms around her and someone’s nose tucked by her neck. She lies still letting the feeling of Wyatt’s breathing in and out tickle her skin. Gently, quietly, she turns around, adjusting the blankets, and his arms, as she moves. He’s fast asleep, face devoid of any problems, blissfully blank. Lucy carefully brushes some hair away from his face, letting her hand linger on his cheek for a moment. 

_ That _ happened. 

Not that Lucy was surprised. She had put on that night gown for a reason. She remembered his face on their wedding night; drunk and unable to control his roaming eyes. Not that last night was that different- except Lucy was wearing it for its real purpose, not like some doll playing dressed up.

Lucy smiles to herself, considering the previous night in her head, her thumb rubbing circles on his cheek gently. If she is completely honest with herself, she was so nervous about knocking on his door, that she was utterly grateful that he knocked, giving her the confidence to spring forward, to act on those feelings that had been bubbling beneath for so long.

Wyatt’s arms tense and she watches as he wakes up. First his face scowls at having to awaken, then, his face transforms into a soft smile as he blinks awake. Lucy opts to smile back, keeping her giddiness in check. 

“Morning” he quietly says, voice horse and soft, his fingers lazily drawing circles on her back as he relaxes his hold on her, but only slightly. She resumes her path through his hair, scratching his head lightly in return. 

“Good morning”

He smiles at that, looking down at her through heavily lidded eyes. “So… how did you sleep?” he asks, his face completely innocent. Lucy can only laugh in response. 

“I slept…” she taps her lips with a fingertip, faux pondering, “pretty good.” 

“Pretty good? I don’t know about you” he pulls her closer, nose to nose, “but I barely slept at all.  _ Someone _ kept me up”

“How rude of them” 

“What’s really rude is that they didn’t keep me up all night” 

“You have to rest at some point- don’t want to wear you out too much”

“I guess I’ll have to make sure you make up for those missing hours…"

He leans over and captures her lips, lightly peppering her with quick touches. Lucy curls her hand around his neck, and he dips his hand down her thigh, lazily twirling his fingers as he descends. 

**\---**

It is a blissful handful of weeks, filled with quick kisses and quicker breathes. It’s limps tangled together, and sighs intermingling tainted with an ecstasy like no other. It’s hours of words that mean everything and nothing. It felt like a blur but also felt like an eternity. 

Then Lucy’s mother come to visit. Wyatt is in the middle of convincing Lucy to spend another hour in bed, lying back on the sheets, clutching her wrist as she tries to get on with her day. There’s a tentative knock at the bedroom door and a soft voice of one of the maids declaring, “Lady Logan, your mother is in the parlour” 

“Wyatt” Lucy turns, looking down at her wrist, and his hand around it. She raises an accusing brow at his grasp. 

“Did you invite your mother over for tea?” he responds, not letting go. 

“I didn’t… but I haven’t seen her in a while- it’ll be nice to let her know I’m ok, more than ok” 

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Wyatt lets go of her hand sitting up and pinning her with a look. However, Lucy is getting better at ignoring those looks, and turns away, picking up a dressing gown and tidying up the clutter about the room.  She’s avoiding his question and he knows it. 

“Luce…” 

“I, well, I was... _ nervous _ about the wedding, the marriage. Really about the whole situation” She jumps slightly when Wyatt gently turns her around, his face earnest. He skims his hands down her arms, and weaves her fingers between his as he asks, “and how do you feel now?” 

She looks down at their fingers and rubs her thumb against his. She looks up and replies, “I’m good, happy. So happy.” Wyatt smiles in response, and pulls at her hands, pulling her closer. She tilts her head up, and they capture each other. Lucy keeps it chaste and sweet, preventing it from being a prelude to a sensual moment. She holds onto Wyatt’s hands for a moment longer, “I should get dressed, can’t leave mother waiting too long.” 

“She can wait another couple of minutes” 

“No, she cannot.”

Wyatt sighs dramatically, heaving his shoulders as if they carry the burden of the world, and looks at her with big blue puppy dog eyes, before declaring, quickly, “you’ll have to send my regards, I promised Rufus to help with a new strategy.” 

“And you were planning on helping out today- before my mother showed up?” 

“No time like the present” 

Lucy turns, laughing and shaking her head, and goes to her room to get dressed. 

**\---**

Lucy stands in front of the door to her own parlour, and reconsiders her choice of settee, candles, and fireplace for the room. Are they tasteful? Is there enough light? Are the cushions properly plumped? Lucy continued to stare at the large door before her. 

This is her home. 

This is her home and she can have it anyway she likes. 

With this thought firmly planted in her mind, Lucy opens the door and steps into the parlour. The room is brightly lit by the winter morning sun, crisp and refreshing through the large windows that stretch between the ceiling and the floor. The room is a contrast to the cold outside, warm and inviting, reds and gold seeped throughout and a fire crackling in the corner. 

Her mother stands in front of the fire, inspecting the burning logs, and somehow finding it lacking. She turns to face the opening door and smiles at Lucy softly. Lucy goes over to her and pulls her into a hug. Carolyn returns the hug fiercely. Lucy lets herself be enveloped in the comforting scent of her mother- a vanilla that sat of the edge of sickly sweet. 

Her mother pulls back, bracing her hands on Lucy’s shoulders. She looks down at her for a long moment, searching for something. Lucy is happy to let her carry out her inspection. Lucy is perfectly happy. However, Carolyn is not. She frowns and grips Lucy’s shoulders tightly before softly asking, “how are you Lucy? I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have left you so long.” 

“Mother, I’m very good,” Lucy can’t stop the smile that pulls at her cheeks, “very very good.” She beams at her mother, wanting, hoping that she understands, that she no longer needs to worry. There is no more war to fight, there is no battle to prepare for. Lucy is happy. Very very happy. 

Her mother does not look convinced, and questions her once more, this time more quietly, more urgently, “Lucy, be honest, how are you?” She begins to dig her nails into Lucy’s shoulders, her gaze intense, panic stricken. Lucy tries to laugh it off, her mother’s care can be too great, perhaps it’s just clouding her judgement? 

“Mother, I told you I’m ok- more than ok. Things have been wonderful” 

“Lucy you can tell me the truth” 

“It’s the truth, I don’t know what you want me to say” Lucy breaks away from her mother now, looking at Carolyn with a critical eye. Why is she acting so oddly? 

Unfortunately, Lucy is unable to make any further lines of enquiry. There’s grunting outside the door, and the loud clash of swords. Lucy whips around, thinking only of ways to get her mother to safety, of how long it would take Wyatt to come, but those thoughts stop in their tracks when Lucy sees Carolyn standing over her, a small sack in hand. 

“Lucy, this is for your own good.” quickly Carolyn shoves the sack on Lucy’s head, blinding her. Lucy scrambles, yelling and trying to move her arms to pull the sack off her head. But, then there are heavy arms on her biceps. 

“We need to move  _ NOW”  _ a voice booms behind, a heavy breath patting onto the sack. Lucy continues to squirm. 

“Then let’s go.” Carolyn replies, an order from a queen, clear and emotionless clean, leaving no room for arguments. Suddenly, Lucy is being lifted, she kicks and slams her fists into the body that is moving her, continuing her yelling for help. 

The clicking of Carolyn’s shoes against the wooden floors stops, and Lucy hears her mother order, “quieten her please.” 

That’s the last thing she hears, as Lucy’s world blackens. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo- a bit of a twist! 
> 
> I decided to get back a bit more onto the plot- now that other plot points are out of the way ;) (Sorry to anyone who was expecting a bit more...ahem, explicit action- I'm not too great at doing those scenes justice) 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the comments from last week- I keep getting surprised when I see the notifications. It's truly wonderful to hear how much you guys are enjoying this!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and kudos so far! So glad you guys like the last chapter. Let me know what you think of this one! :D

Wyatt watches as Rufus circles around the table, trying to get another view on the map, as if the new angle will provide him some divine inspiration.  Wyatt hasn’t really been paying close attention to Rufus or the map. Instead, he mulls over the past few weeks: the soft sighs and intertwined hands. This feeling, the feeling he first got when he saw Lucy in the purple parlour, has grown and taken over. 

He cares for her, deeply. He wants her close as much as possible and wants her all to himself. He wants to watch her work and see her flourish. He wants her wholeheartedly. He- 

No. No. They couldn't be there. Wyatt couldn’t be there yet. 

Rufus takes another turn around the table, and Wyatt lets out a sigh. He shouldn’t be here, avoiding Lady Carolyn like some child afraid of the monster under the bed. She was a woman like any other, he could handle her. He can handle her. He pushes off the wall he’s leaning against and decides resolutely, he would handle her. If this peace plan/marriage was going to work, he needs to work at keeping and brokering peace between the two families. 

However, his plan to disrupt the tea between his wife and his mother-in-law is put on pause when a maid rushes in, hair in disarray, a frantic look in her eyes. She’s one of Lucy’s maids. Wyatt’s heart drops to his gut. She pants as she flings open the door, no time for formalities. Her eyes instantly lock onto Wyatt and she calls out between deep breaths, 

“They- they took her- they took Lady Lucy” 

Wyatt freezes, looking at her with incomprehension. Luckily Rufus steps in, asking the question that needs answers, “who? Who took her?”

The maid looks uncomfortable, biting on her lip and avoiding their gaze. She replies, after a long pregnant pause, “her mother and a group of Rittenhouse men.”

That’s all Wyatt needs to hear to get himself back into the moment, back onto the issue at hand. Lucy’s mother took her. Why would she take her? There is peace- Rittenhouse and Mason had put aside their weapons, had settled all disagreements, there had been dinners and balls. There is no need for such actions. 

“How long ago did they take her?” he asks, his voice harsh. He stands and starts storming towards the door, his face barely hiding the rage that was whirling in his chest. The maid’s eyes widen with fear, and she sputters out, shifting out of his path, “It- I- they were so many of them- out of nowhere- I-I- no longer than half an hour ago, sir, I think I-they-” 

Wyatt turns back to look at her, to demand an answer, but Rufus steps in, gently telling the maid, “thank you- go downstairs and get yourself looked over and have a rest.” The maid scurries off. Rufus looks back to Wyatt, “we’ll get her Wyatt, but we don’t need to go in swords swinging, we need to think this through.” 

Wyatt ignores his suggestion and continues to make his way through the house, moving with speed through the corridors, thinking of what weaponry he may need and how long it would take to track them- would his horse be ready to go? Will Lucy be hurt- No, he couldn’t think about that, wouldn’t think about that. She’s with her mother- her mother couldn’t hurt, wouldn’t hurt her surely? 

“Wyatt! Where are you going?” Rufus calls out behind him.

“I’m going to get her back- tell Sherwin to follow” he pauses, considering his next thought for a moment, and then looks over his shoulder, and orders Rufus, “tell him to bring reinforcements.” 

With that Wyatt speeds up, practically running to the weaponry and the stables, picking up more daggers and blades as he goes. Once armed to the teeth, he rides to his home to pick apart those left behind, and to find some clue as to where Lucy has been taken. 

\--- 

Lucy comes to with the sound of quiet, harsh whispering, on the other side of the room. At least she is assuming it is a room, the itchy starchy sack is still on her head, blocking out any clues to her location. However, it’s not sound proof and Lucy knows those voices- especially with that tone. 

“Carolyn, really, this is going to ruin everything! We worked too hard for this deal and we’re still getting our forces back together. This is quite possibly the worst-” 

“Benjamin- you are going to be the death of the Rittenhouse line. We cannot let the Rittenhouse family fall, it has been the most powerful family for centuries and I will not let it fall due to a marriage to a- a common soldier.” 

Lucy keeps still, hoping her parents won’t notice she has woken up. She concentrates on her breathing, to keep the panic at bay. Her own mother- her own parents- have kidnapped her. Stolen her away for what? For the sake of a bloodline that was dying out anyway? 

“You are being ridiculous Carolyn- the marriage is done and dusted, everything is signed and agreed upon. We cannot jeopardize this!” Lucy hears her father sigh, she can picture him easily- hands on hips or leaning over a table, exasperated. “Do you want to go back to the cottage Carolyn? Do you really want me to have to lock you up again? This marriage is the only reason you are back out in the world- why for the love of the Lord would you want to stop that?” 

“I care- I care about Lucy, and I care about the Rittenhouse legacy even more. She is one of the purest of Rittenhouse blood this house has ever seen. She should have married within Rittenhouse- as we had planned. But no, you went behind my back- set her up with some commoner, for what? Your own gain?”

“Carolyn-” 

“Don’t you dare Carolyn me.” 

The air is tight with tension and Lucy can hear her father gently tapping his fingers, the only signal of his frustration that leaks from his usual composure. The tapping stops suddenly and a chair scraps against the floor, as a realisation dawns. 

“Carolyn, that rebellion at the South Eastern pass-” 

“Guards!” Carolyn calls out, harshly, quickly. There’s a scrap of chairs against the floor and the door slamming open, adding to the cacophony of noise. She continues talking, over the grunts and sharp slap of boots on the wooden floor, “I am doing what you should have done, had you not been such a coward.” 

Lucy can hear her father shouting, “Carolyn! What is the meaning of this- unhand me- I am the master of this household- I am-” 

“No. You lost the privilege when you turned against this household, when you made a decision without consultation, when you thought you knew best for Rittenhouse.” Carolyn’s voice is regal and cold. It is a proclamation, a declaration of her power, a display of her rightful place in this household, of her Rittenhouse blood. "You know nothing." 

There’s more marching, a dragging and kicking of a pair of boots on the wooden floor. Her father continues his protests, calling to the men dragging him from the room, to Carolyn, to what he thinks should be the right order of things.The noise quietens, and then the only sound is Carolyn’s gentle slipper clad-feet on the floor, gently walking towards Lucy. 

Lucy keeps her eyes shut as the sack is pulled off her head.

Her mother stands up and gently folds the sack into a neat little square. She doesn’t look down at Lucy, but tells her, “Lucy- I know you heard all that. It’s important you know why I brought you here.” 

“Brought me here? You kidnapped me” Lucy replies, blinking up at her mother. She doesn’t bother trying to stand up and escaping, from the sounds of it, her mother has the entire Rittenhouse army at her disposal. 

“It’s for your own good- the greater good.” Her mother looks down at her, eyebrow arched, “really Lucy I thought you were old enough to understand, I thought you mature enough to understand your custodial role with the Rittenhouse legacy.” She tilts her head, considering her daughter for a moment before announcing, “I’m going to fix this mess- like I always do. Everything will be right in no time.”

“Can you please untie me at least-” 

“Emma will untie you, but you are not to leave this room unless I say so. You will be given meals here. There will be guards on your door every hour, every minute- so don’t you dare try anything.”

Her mother pivots on the balls of her feet concisely and goes to the door. However, she pauses, and looks back at Lucy with sad eyes before quietly concluding, “I will make everything right, don’t you worry Lucy.” 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo another chapter- hope you enjoy! :D

The house is a mess, but a mess always leaves a trace. Leaving the overthrown furniture and the broken doorways behind him, Wyatt weaves through the woods south, following the tracks the small army had left behind. He can’t be too far behind. The night air was cold, the cool wind cutting as he pushed his ride through the trees. 

He slows and comes to a stop at the edge of the forest; at the South Eastern pass. Pulling his worn weather beaten cloak closer to him, he listens carefully. The tracks lead on further, and Wyatt is beginning to suspect… 

He pulls his horse to a stop at the final line of trees and jumps down, his hand instantly going to the hilt of the sword at his hip. Wyatt carefully and quietly walks to the nearest tree and peeks out from behind the large gnarled trunk. 

Before him sits an old crumbling castle, a relic of a time by gone, of an era of old gods and old regimes. It’s a simple square brutish structure, with high walls and tall square towers (or the remains of what were once tall towers). There’s a dried up moat and a draw bridge which is pulled up tight. Wyatt can see a crumbling ‘R’ enshrined on above the main entrance. There is no doubt in his mind who this relic belongs to; Rittenhouse. 

However, this confirms nothing for Wyatt. Lucy’s mother surely wouldn’t have taken her- there’s no reason, no need. She forced Lucy into the marriage in the first place, why would she kidnap her from it? Wyatt pulls himself from his thoughts and questions, and focuses on the task at hand. The tracks he had been following seem to lead this way, to the ruined castle, and so he must follow. 

There’s a voice in the back of his head, shouting to wait for the others, to return to Mason for more reinforcements, to think through a plan of action or some kind of strategy. But he quickly pushes that voice aside, one thing at a time, and right now getting into the castle was his first hurdle. The evening sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the forest and field in which the castle sits. Wyatt turns to face his horse, pausing to consider his next move. 

Carefully, he leads the horse to the final line of trees and with a firm hand, smacks him. The horse runs and Wyatt hopes he captures the attention of whoever it is that might be on watch. He holds his breath, watching the horse run through the long grass, the gallop echoing out across the land. Wyatt hears some shouts, and he doesn’t hesitate to run out, keeping low across the field between the trees and the brute structure. 

He makes it the edge of the moat and leaps across to the side of the castle without anyone noticing him. Unfortunately, Wyatt had not really considered what to do next, once he had made it across. Hugging the cold stone to his back, he walks down the side of the structure, considering any openings. 

However, it seems fate is working with him for once, as he notices a flutter of white. Confused, Wyatt looks up and sees a… a bed sheet? A bed sheet being pushed out of a window. He pauses only for a moment to consider the surrealness of the moment but then it strikes him- why would someone be lowering a bed sheet out the window? 

He turns, face the crumbling mass of stone in front of him and pulls two short thick daggers from their hiding place beneath his doublet. Dear Lord he hopes this works. Experimentally he shoves a dagger into the stone above him and, leveraging the impaled dagger, pulls himself off the ground. The dagger and stone don’t complain about the sudden weight. 

Well, here goes nothing. 

One after another, Wyatt pushes and pulls the daggers in and out of the stone, climbing up with the side of the tower. Soon, he gets a face full of bedsheets. Just as it tickled his face, it’s hastily pulled back inside through the window. He hurries after it and reaches through the window. The room is dark, with only the moonlight behind him providing any illumination. 

It provides a most beautiful sight. 

Lucy stands with her back to him, only a hands reach away, trying to tie some bedsheets together, a mass of white cloth surrounds her on the floor. She curses softly when she pulls experimentally on the sheet, only to rip it in two.

“You’re stronger than I thought” Wyatt calls out, hoping not to scare her as he climbs over the window and fully into the room. Lucy jumps and gives a slight shout of surprise. She turns to face him her hand on her chest, her breathing slightly panicked. However, her shock turns to surprise when she sees it’s him. 

“Wyatt?” 

“Lucy.”

She doesn’t say anything, only launches herself at him, pulling him into a devastating hug. She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him desperately close and pouring her heart into the embrace. Wyatt can only return the affection as best he can by pulling her closer, his arms encircling her waist. He ducks his face into her neck and breathes her in- alive and whole and here, safe in his arms. 

They stand for a moment- too short, too brief- before Lucy pulls back, her eyes alight with questions as she assesses his face for any harm.  

“Are you ok?” he asks, his voice soft, not daring to speak to loud lest they alert the guards he assumes are posted on the other side of the door. 

“I’m fine,” she replies quick, sure and just as quiet. “What about you? How did you get in here? Wyatt- they-” 

“Hey,” he starts, his hands running up and down her arms in an attempt at desperately needed comfort, “I’m here in one piece aren’t I?” 

But there was no time for her to argue, though he could tell by the frown on her face that she was itching to point out the dust and dirt all over his clothing and cloak. There was a spatter of talking by the door into the room. Lucy’s eyes widened, panic gripping her as she whispers to him quick and harsh, “Wyatt you need to hide now- if they find you-” 

“Luce I’m not leaving without you- I came to get you and I’m-” 

“Wyatt! We don’t have time for a rescue right now” she throws a glance to the door, to the deep voices chatting. Lucy pushes him back towards the window but Wyatt holds his ground and plants his feet firmly to the ground. 

“ _ Wyatt _ please!” She’s more panicked, throwing her eyes between him and the door, “please I don’t want you to-” 

They’re cut off by the door being thrown open and a man walking into the room. Lucy pivots using her whole body to shield Wyatt as much as she can, while Wyatt draws his sword and attempts to get in front of her. 

“Lucy your mother was-” the man looks up from his sheet of paper to the pair before him. All the air in the room seems to leave once Wyatt looks at this man. He’s taller than him, dark hair, a debonair flair about his posture. He isn’t a soldier, that’s for sure. Wyatt has a gut instinct and he hopes against hope that it’s wrong, but he can always count on his first reaction being the best. 

“Ah,” the man says, frowning at the two. “Lucy, who’s this?” 

“Noah- please just, keep calm” Lucy begins. 

Yeah, Wyatt’s gut is right again. 

“We can all be adults here and just talk things through,” Lucy raises her hands away from shielding Wyatt, intended to be gesture of good will but Wyatt can see the slight shake of her arms. Wyatt needs to get in front of her, get this guy out of the way, get her as far away from this as possible. But he can’t do any of that, not when Lucy won’t seem to budge. 

Noah doesn’t reply to her suggestion of a civil conversation, instead he takes a couple of steps backwards, out of the open door, and makes way for the a pair of guards to move into the room. Everyone is a calm, belying the tension that hangs amongst them. 

Then everything comes together at once. The guards move, heavy steps. Wyatt grabs for Lucy, pulling her behind him, lifting the blade in his left hand up into a defensive pose. There’s no time for him to scrap together a plan or an alternative exit route. As the guards’ blades are drawn, Wyatt wastes no time and lunges forward. The only way to safety is past the guards and Noah and through the door. 

He deflects and slashes, the clang of steel on steel echoing through the room. Wyatt kicks one of the guards over, knocking him off his feet. Before he can celebrate, he too is knocked to the floor by the guard’s partner. He’s sword goes flying across the room, the breath stolen from his lungs. He quickly reaches for another weapon, anything sharp he has hidden on his person, but the guard on the floor is quicker and grabs his hand while the one still standing places a firm booted foot on the middle of his chest, his sword a hair width away from swiping Wyatt’s life away. 

“Lucy,” Noah calls out from his position in the corridor, “I suggest you come with me, I imagine your mother will have a lot to say about this.” 

“Lucy don’t” Wyatt looks over at her, by the window, the moonlight pooling around her like a vision. But then the blade is pressing on his throat, the sharp cold against his neck. It’s the most effective method of shutting him up. 

Lucy watches, still as a statue, rooted to the spot. She watches as the blade presses on his throat, as the other guard slowly reveals and removes weaponry from his person. Wyatt sees something in her gaze shift, the fear- the panic of before- is replaced, or rather shuttered, with a new mettle of steel. She’s made her mind up, and Wyatt knows he’s going to disagree. His gut is crying out to him to stop her.

“Noah promise me they won’t touch him” 

“You know I can’t promise that-”

“Promise me that he is kept safe” 

“ _ Fine _ , now come on, your mother will want a word about this.” 

Noah holds open his arms and Lucy crosses over, leaving Wyatt behind. She looks over her shoulder, the facade of strength faltering for a moment when her eyes lock with Wyatt’s, and then she follows Noah, out of Wyatt’s sight. 

Wyatt doesn’t have time to call out, to tell her to run, as the hilt of the sword meets the side of his head. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly so so sorry for the slight delay on publishing this! Secondly sorry again for the short chapter- we're nearing the end so I'm trying to keep a nice pace up. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :D

Lucy sits demurely on an uncomfortable wooden chair, trying not to scowl, trying not to garner her mother’s attention. Or at least, try not to garner any more of her scorn. 

“Lucy, your… Wyatt’s presence here really does disrupt things.” Carolyn rebukes, looking down at her daughter. “This means we will have to speed things up…” 

“What do you mean?” Lucy asks, finally looking up at her mother, an eyebrow raised. 

“The true Rittenhouse marriage, the one I had planned for so long, too long, will have to come together sooner than we had expected.” She pulls back and walks over to the fireplace considering the flames for a moment. Lucy watches, her mother’s face unmoving, underlit by the flames. There’s only the sound of the cracking and popping fire for a minute or two. 

“Marriage? I’m already married,” Lucy says, disrupting the stillness, her voice marred by confusion, “we had a pretty big ball for it?”

Then Carolyn turns, and explains to Lucy, as a stern teacher explains to a child, “your true marriage. Your Rittenhouse marriage to Noah. Lucy, my darling, you will marry Noah tomorrow morning.” She continues on as Lucy remains silent. “Lucy I promised you that I would keep fighting for you and I have found the winning solution. A marriage back into Rittenhouse, and then we can work to take out Mason once and for all.” 

“But, I- I can’t be married more than once?” Lucy asks. 

“Lucy dear, your marriage isn’t a true marriage- a true Rittenhouse woman would not have allowed such a marriage to be consummated.” 

Lucy doesn’t look at her mother, instead focuses carefully on her hands curled in her lap. Her mother continues, glancing down at her daughter’s guilty form. “Regardless of marital activities, there’s no one who can prove otherwise.” 

This time, Lucy moves unconsciously. Without thinking, her curled hands shift to her stomach, finding the bump that is barely there. She doesn’t realise her actions before it’s too late. Lucy catches her mother’s eyes glance down and notice the action. 

“Lucy.” Carolyn’s voice is ice, her gaze steel. Quickly Lucy snatches her hands away and dares a look up at her enraged mother. 

“Well. I see I was right to move the wedding forward.” Carolyn considers Lucy for a moment, before concluding, “no one needs to know. No one.” 

Lucy stands, forcing her hands to her side and looks her mother right in the eyes. “I’m not marrying anyone tomorrow. I’m already married, and happily so at that. Mother I won’t do it.” 

“Lucy you will do as you are told. This is your destiny, this is what you were born for.”

“My destiny? My destiny is mine, mine to choose and to make. A destiny is down to an individual- not you mother. It’s mine.” Lucy’s words are fiery and harsh, quick to pour out of her mouth, but then she says softer, but no less angry, “why won’t you let me be happy?”  

Her mother pulls back and her face shutters off. Blank and regal, Carolyn says nothing more as she walks out of the room and closes the door behind her. 

**\---**

Wyatt wakes with a start and a heavy head. The room is dark- either he’s been out of it for a day, or only a hour or so. He hopes it’s the latter over the former. The dank room obviously hasn’t been used in decades, Wyatt notes as he blinks into the darkness. Standing, he makes his way over to a door and attempts to open it. 

Locked. 

He holds his breath, and listens carefully, there’s no shuffling of tired feet, nor sighs from the poor soul left with the early hour shift. He’s been left alone, which suits Wyatt just fine. 

Unfortunately it takes him some time to get out- all his weapons taken from him. He’ll have to open the door in a less sophisticated manner; bodily.  Once the door gives to the continuous hits from him, Wyatt sits for a moment, hands on his knees, his breath hanging in the cold winter air like ghostly rags. Stepping out of his holding cell, Wyatt realises he has been abandoned in a room at the edge of the fortress. 

At once, he feels torn; go find Lucy, or go get reinforcements. He had expected Rufus and an army of Mason’s men to be here by now, but the winter has settled in and darkness is no place to go searching for lost persons. 

He had to go get the others- he couldn’t bring down a castle filled with soldiers alone. They had all assumed that Rittenhouse was down to the minimum of men, but they had to have hidden them, or made new allegiances- there had to be at least a couple hundred milling about, sharpening weapons, inspecting blades, and preparing for a battle. 

Wyatt tries not to linger on that thought for too long, but that settles his decision- he needs reinforcements. 

Quietly, he makes his way down the tower, coming across no one. He makes it to the main entrance, his cloak (which thankfully they had left him with) pulled up. There’s a group of men pouring over a map on a makeshift table by the massive doors, arguing amongst themselves. 

“No, no- the east- the east side is always weaker- we need to have some men to-” the beard man jabs the air with an imagined dagger. Some men nod and hum in agreement, others guffaw not impressed by his suggestion in the slightest. 

The soldier in him wants to linger, sit in the shadows in the darkness of anonymity, and gather as much intel as he can. It’s spilling out of these tired (and drunk, Wyatt suspects) men, arguing and bickering with a self confident swagger an unfortunate amount of men seem to carry. But Wyatt knows better; the sooner he gets out of here, the sooner the cavalry will come for Lucy.  

The thought of Lucy spurs him on, pulling his hood against a gust of icy wind and out into the field surrounding them, towards the trees of the dark forest. 

However, it’s the thought of Lucy that makes him turn around once more to check behind him. 

“Hey!” a gruff voice calls out. 

_ Shit.  _

Wyatt doesn’t look to see who has called him- he runs, hoping he can reach the line of thick trees before those drunkards can get their arrows lined up. Arms pumping, legs thumping, he drives across the field, the grass around him slick with morning dew. The sun rising to the east, the orange light a mockery against the winter chill. 

One arm, one leg, one arm, one leg, Wyatt kept on going, hearing the rumblings of the men behind him. Clear, across the clashes of armour and the shouts of men, he hears a voice that puts ice in his veins and makes him skid to a halt, only a few feet from the forest. 

Noah calls out to him, impressively across the field, “Captain Logan, I don’t think you’ll want to run from this” Wyatt keeps his eyes planted on the brown crumpled oak before him, his breathing heavy. Everyone seems to stop what they are doing- the only dominant noise he can hear is his own panting. 

“Wyatt! Run!” Lucy’s voice is panicked and cuts across the silence like a glass shattering on a marble floor. Wyatt turns around at once, her voice is a siren call that he is powerless to resist. He can see the pair on top of the fortress, Lucy struggling and pulling against Noah’s grip. Noah remains upright and proud, another Rittenhouse asshole with a rod up his backside. 

“Wyatt!” 

“Logan, come back at once, we don’t want anything happening to Lady Lucy here now do we?” 

“Wyatt- run! Please! Don’t-” 

She doesn’t finish that sentence as Noah pushes her forward towards the crumbling edge of the structure. A few rocks slip and fall, their landing echoing out across the field in deep threatening thuds. Noah holds onto her, but doesn’t watch her as she almost falls. Instead his gaze remains on Wyatt. 

They all stand still for a moment. Lucy trying to get her footing back, Noah holding her and watching him, and Wyatt simply watching back. A wind streaks through his hair, through the long grass and ruffles the end of Lucy’s dress.

Wyatt nods. As if simply waiting for his cue, a stream of men rush out of the structure and grab him, pulling him to the ground, the cool morning dew washing onto his face. He can’t see Lucy, but he hopes she’s nowhere near that ledge anymore. 


	20. Chapter 20

There is no grand ceremony, no tables pulled out and flags lifted. Noah drags Lucy down to the square in the centre of the fortress. Men mill around, the anger and excitement lighting a kind of electricity in the air. They are all charged up and ready to go. Lucy doesn’t try to linger on what they are ready for. 

Lucy looks around at the men surrounding her, watching their harsh smiles and gruff laughs that sit somewhere between a sneer and a cough. Noah pulls her across the square towards a makeshift stage, cobbled together with a random assortment of wood. The tears are gone at once, and replaced with her heart speeding, and ice running in her veins. 

No. No, she can’t marry him.

She won’t marry him. Not Noah. Never Noah. 

The sudden, impending, and unwanted marriage spurs her on. Lucy pulls with all her might against Noah’s vice-like grip. She feels as though he’s going to pull off her arm, but she has no luck and Noah drags Lucy towards the stage. The large rough wooden square sits in the middle of the fortress square, but Noah stops in front of it and makes no move to get on stage. 

She continues to struggle, but with a quick yank, Noah pulls her close and whispers harshly in her ear, “do shut up we need to get this over with.” 

Before she can respond there is a rumbling of feet, shouts and yells echo out across the courtyard turning those last few heads that weren’t eyeing up the wooden stage. She steels herself for a haggard priest rumbled from his bed, or perhaps her mother had ordered the theft of a bishop; she always liked going big. 

“Get ready lads!” a hoarse voice called out to the crowd, intrigued murmurs respond. Lucy can see some of the women in the fortress come out from their beds to see the commotion. She sees her mother across the courtyard watching from a balcony, wearing her finest. Lucy looks back to the stage, wondering if she would ever outrun everyone and find Mason in time. Find Wyatt in time. 

And as if summoned by her thoughts, he appears. He’s bloodied, the blood drying in the cold air, coating his face in a harsh brownish-red. However, Lucy can already foresee the bruises blooming on his face, even from this distance. His cloak is gone and his body shakes against the cold. He’s dragged towards the stage, the fight is gone. Is he even conscious? 

Lucy pushes against Noah, desperate to see her husband, to reach for him, to help him, to save him. Noah holds her back with his steadfast lock on her arm. She steals a glance up at him, but he continues to watch the farce in front of him, his grip on her tightens painfully as he calls out, “come on, get it over with!” 

The large rotund man, who called out previously, looks offended at Noah’s suggestion, but then shrugs it off as he heaves himself onto the stage. He considers his arena for a moment, stroking an unruly black beard before gesturing to the large group of men behind him. They swarm the stage and Lucy is sure she can hear it groan under their weight. 

“Wyatt!” she calls out, watching as they yank his limp form onto the stage and drag him onto the centre of the wooden structure. He seems to recognise her voice, rolling his head towards her, but his eyes are too heavy and he rolls his head away. What are they doing? What is all this nonsense? 

Then they lift Wyatt again and plopped his head onto a wooden block. 

A block. 

Lucy feels faint and sick all at once, her stomach dropping and her blood rushing. She stares at him, his limp form being manhandled into the right position. He can’t fight back, he’s bleeding as they move him, leaving additional stains to the worn wooden block. 

“Gentleman, and ladies,” the bearded man calls out to his excited crowd, working the stage like a world class actor- dramatic pauses every few sentences, as he gazes out onto his rapt audience. “We are all here today to witness the death of the  _ honorable _ Captain Logan!” He spits out Wyatt’s name and the crowd responds like clockwork, hissing and booing in true pantomime fashion. “He is a man who rose against his station! A man who stole a Rittenhouse bride! This will not go unpunished!” He spits out each accusation, his face getting redder and redder, the crowd getting more and more excited. The masses move towards the wooden stage, desperate to be as close as possible to the upcoming execution. They push against Noah, and he tries to push back, tries to keep his grip on Lucy. He can’t do both. 

Lucy slips out of his fingers, and immediately weaves through the crowd, trying to get back to the front, back towards Wyatt. The bearded man continues his monologue, the other men peeling off the stage one by one. However one remains, holding a large and heavy sword, its tarnished and stained surface belying its deadly sharpness. “So gentlemen what shall it be- is it time for this fool, this coward, this rash of a man to meet his maker?” The crowd response with eagerness, agreeing readily. 

Lucy pushes past, shoving shoulders and ducking beneath raised arms. She can hear Noah behind her, catching up, reaching for her. She reaches the stage. The bearded man holds out a beefy arm, the other man raises the sword into it. Lucy places her hands firmly on the wooden stage and pulls herself up, the man walks towards Wyatt. Lucy doesn’t think, she simply does. 

She runs across the stage, the man stands before Wyatt adjusting his weight. Raising the sword. 

**\---**

Wyatt is vaguely aware of where he is- back in that damn Rittenhouse fortress. He’s in pain, bleeding and aching, his sides and stomach a mess. He may have twisted his ankle, he’s not completely sure about that, but he can’t really walk. Not that that matters, those Rittenhouse assholes keep lifting and dragging him around.

He knows this is it. As soon as he could open his eyes, just for a moment, he saw the stage and recognised it all at once. He had only ever been to a public execution once before. A thief- no more than a few years older than him- had been caught one too many times and the locals had had enough. Wyatt’s father thought it was important for Wyatt to see, so he made sure they had front row seats. His first step into manhood, father had called it, but he was also quick to tell Wyatt that his mother better not find out. It was one of the last times he was alone with his father. He can remember the sight of the makeshift stage, the boy, no older than he was at the time, terrified and alone. The stench of the sweaty crowd trying to get close enough. Then came the swing of the sword and the whoop of the crowd, desperate for death.

Now it’s Wyatt’s time to shine.

He’s shoved onto the wooden executioner's block, a rough hand shoving his head into the designated grove. Wyatt vaguely thinks of the boy, given only a log to rest his head on in his final moments. The town was too poor to afford anything else, too poor to afford sleight of hand either. 

Wyatt tries not to think of that. Not to focus on his childhood, on the tears and fights and scary nights. He tries to think of the past year instead. Of Rufus, who had blossomed into his role of heir, who was madly in love with Jiya, who surpassed even Rufus’ own intelligence. He thinks of Christopher and Michelle, his surrogate mothers who keep him in line, even in adulthood. He thinks of Grandpa Sherwin, who despite being the most esteemed warrior in the lands had time to softly whisper encouragement to his grandson, who was never unnecessarily harsh, who only showed kindness and strength.  

He had saved her for his last thoughts however. Lucy in the purple room, him holding her closer than necessary. The feel of her hand under his lips. The feel of her lips on his, insistent, authoritative and enthusiastic. The need to keep her close. Skin on skin, sighs mingling with sighs. Her sharp looks, her laughter. Her hugs that took a bit of his soul each time. Her care when talking to tenants and farmers, noting each word as if it was as important as the scriptures.The way the sunlight came through just after dawn, and made her skin golden. He always liked waking up before she did, just so he could see her in the morning light, soft and blissful. 

“-this rash of a man to meet his maker?” the executioner calls out. A showman through and through. Wyatt had to give him a little bit of credit. At least he’ll go out with a bit of pizzazz. 

Wyatt sends a small prayer to any god that will listen, that Lucy will be ok, that no harm will come of her, and that Rufus, Mason, and Sherwin will find her and protect her. 

Did he ever get to tell her he loves her? 

The crowd is restless, he can hear the cheers and jeers, the heaves and sighs of a mass of people hungry for bloodshed. Wyatt thinks of Lucy that morning after their wedding, her fingers in his hair, her bright brown eyes innocently staring down at him, unaware of their power over him even then. He thinks of that liminal bliss and wonders if heaven could ever compare. 

Wyatt braces himself for the sound of the sword slicing through the air. They say decapitation is painless but he knows that Rittenhouse won’t make it clean. How many swings will it take? Three or ten? He braces himself, holding onto to the image of his wife, the thought of his family at Mason, and whether or not St Peter will be just once he reaches those pearly gates. 

However, it is not the cold steel that greets him. It’s a body on top of his own. The smaller former curls around him, arms encircling his head in a protective cocoon. He pushes against the heaviness of his eyelids and opens his eyes to see if he knows this figure, this saboteur of executions.  

“Lucy! What are you doing?” Carolyn calls down from somewhere above. Wyatt frowns, unable to see through the arms around his head holding him in place. Lucy? 

“I can’t- I won’t let you do this!” Lucy calls back, not budging from her spot around him. “You will not kill him.” 

“Lucy this is the only way to end the marriage” a different voice calls out, from the right hand side of the stage, Noah. 

“I will not end this marriage and especially not for you!” Lucy calls back, curling tighter around her. 

“Lucy move now!” Her mother calls out, icy and harsh. 

There is, however, no time to respond, as the cavalry comes bursting through the large front door. Quite literally. 

The door splinters out, and screams hang high in the air. The execution is forgotten and armour is scrambled for, but there is no time as Mason’s troops stream in. Lucy peels herself off Wyatt and begins to pull him up. 

“Wyatt please, Wyatt we have to-” 

“Lucy!” He grabs onto her shoulders, looking at her with all the focus he can muster. There’s not a scratch on her but her face is panicked as the shouts of battle echo around her. “Lucy-” 

He doesn’t get another word in as Lucy yanks him down for a fleeting kiss, harsh and over before it can begin. She holds onto his face- her two hands around his cheeks- and tells him softly but firmly, “we are getting out of here.” She pauses, her strength wavering for a moment, considering something before her decision is made, then she says conclusively, “we are getting out of here, now.” 

Resolved, she twists them, looping his arm around her shoulder. Wyatt can’t quite argue, he’s in no shape to fight and he needs to get her away from the violence as quickly as possible. It’s better to let her drag him along than try to convince her to run alone. 

They manoeuvre off the stage and plunge into the violence. There are swords slamming, axes swinging, and a cacophony of shouting and screams. The smell of fresh blood lingers in the cold air. Lucy pulls him along, barely stopping for his stumbles. The sounds of battle awaken his senses, and the adrenaline kicks in. Soon Wyatt feels like himself. Albeit with a bad ankle, wretched stomach, and a head aching so much he thinks it might burst. 

However, his body has good timing and his gut has yet to let him down, as Noah steps towards them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok this was one of my favourite chapters to write- I had the image of Lucy saving Wyatt from execution in my head for the longest time. 
> 
> Also- yay for two hour special! Not quite a renewal but I'm hoping it'll give the writers a chance to wrap things up (and give us Lyatt ;)) 
> 
> Thanks again for all of you reading and commenting and liking and what not- only two more chapters left! Eek!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay on this- hope you enjoy!!

Lucy bites back a scream of frustration as soon as she sees Noah step forward. She can feel Wyatt next to her shift and test his weight onto his injured foot. He isn’t in any shape to fight, even if he has more experience under his belt than Noah. She won’t lose him, especially not to Noah. 

Wyatt pulls away from her, his stance heavy as he faces Noah with no weapon, no defence. Wyatt breathes heavily as he calls out to Noah, “don’t do this” 

“What? Stop you from stealing  _ my  _ bride.   _ Again _ .” Noah replies. 

“Don’t” 

“Don’t what? Leave her Logan, and I may let you live” 

“No” 

Wyatt is barely enunciating his words, they spill out of him as gruff monotone forms. He stands still yet sways on the spot, fighting to keep up right. Yet, Lucy can feel the energy pulsing from him, waiting to be unleashed. 

He’ll be killed if she lets him fight. 

Lucy looks around them, as Noah and Wyatt stare it out for a long moment. However there are no familiar faces. She looks over at Wyatt once more, and sees Noah raise his sword. Before she can yell out an warning, Wyatt dives for Noah and only by the grace of God (or just pure luck) the sword misses him, and Wyatt topples Noah to the ground. 

They push and shove against each other, vying for the best position over another, trying to get a swing in but never quite succeeding. Wyatt manages a quick punch against Noah’s face, knocking his nose and sending a quick spit of blood across the floor. Lucy can’t watch- not because of the violence, but because of all the other commotion happening around her. 

Men step between herself and the battling pair, continuing on their own fights. She ducks to dodge a wayward sword and catches Noah shove Wyatt off him, flinging him onto the dirty ground next to him. Lucy races back over, her eye catching hold of Noah’s sword- left alone when Wyatt knocked him to the floor.

“Don’t you dare” Lucy tells Noah, picking up the sword. It’s heavy but she adjusts her weight, hauling it up and holding it against his neck. 

Noah stills but keeps his hold over Wyatt, arm raised to strike his face. 

Lucy keeps all her concentration on him and the sword in her hand. She could end him, here and now. She can get the revenge she craved so much. She thinks of Amy, only a child, gone too soon. Sweetness stolen. 

“Lucy-” Wyatt calls out, his voice croaky and fading. She ignores him, concentrating on Noah now. The source of so much of her pain, both past and present. 

“Aren’t you going to do anything darling?” Noah calls out, his voice mocking and playful as if he’s teasing her at a banquet not a battle. Then he says, more so to himself than to her, “at least your sister gave a better fight.” 

Lucy’s breath is gone. Amy. He’s talking about Amy. He’s- 

Then a sword strikes through him, sure and fast. There’s no hesitation. The air rushes out of Noah and he exhales softly, like a gasp in reverse. He goes slack, letting Wyatt go and falling. Wyatt rolls quickly out of his path. Lucy turns to face the sword’s owner. 

Sherwin stands tall and looks down at the prone form. Calmly he goes over and extracts his sword with a quick yank. He turns to Lucy, his gaze softening as he sees her grip the sword still. 

“You need to get out of here and take Wyatt with you” he tells her, his voice firm but not harsh. However, the order is not to Wyatt’s liking. He stumbles over to them, pulling back his shoulders with a slight wince. One look at him and Lucy knows he will not last this battle. Sherwin must be thinking the same, but Wyatt protests, “I can fight. I-” 

“Wyatt” his grandfather’s voice is harsh, “you have something to come home to- someone- don’t waste that son.” With that he turns, wielding his weapon as expertly as all the whispers claimed he could. 

Lucy holds onto the sword. They needed a way to get out of here and fast. She goes to Wyatt and he loops his arm around her shoulders. Together they weaved between the fights, swords, and punches, towards the ruined doors. 

They are almost at the door when Lucy hears her mother’s voice cry out behind them, sending a jolt of ice through Lucy. 

“Lucy don’t you dare.”

Wyatt tenses next to her, his arm around her shoulder tight and really to be unleashed. Lucy pauses for a second, but the way to the large broken door is clear and Lucy pulls herself from her thoughts, away from the knife edge of her mother’s voice. She doesn’t look back, she only moves forward, with Wyatt right beside her. 

**\---**

They make it back to Mason, taking a horse and riding at breakneck speed. Only once Lucy placed her feet on the ground outside Mason’s home did Wyatt decide it was safe to collapse. After that, Wyatt isn’t entirely sure what happened. One minute he felt heavy and fell to the floor, the next he was lying in a bed with Lucy sitting down next to him, brushing her fingers through his hair softly. 

He stirs, blinking against the light room. It’s not his room from before their move, it’s a guest room- he thinks. Hopefully it’s one of the rooms closer to everyone else. Lucy stills her hand, noticing him wake up. However, she keeps her fingers intertwined in his hair. He twists his head to look up at her. 

She looks exhausted as she meets his gaze They stare at each other for a drawn out moment. A fire crackles in the background, a wind rushes by the window. Lucy then smiles softly at him, her fingers beginning their strokes through his hair again. He sighs in return, closing his eyes for a second at the soft feeling. 

“How you feeling?”  

“I’ve been better”

Lucy hums in response, and Wyatt considers going back to sleep again, but then a thought pulls him from returning to his slumber. 

“Lucy” he begins pulling himself up into a seated position. He would rather be standing or pacing the room to say this, but he’s not sure his leg is up for it just yet, so sitting up right will have to do. Lucy’s hand falls from his hair and he reaches for it, dragging a thumb across her knuckles. He keeps looking at her hands encased in his own. “Lucy I-”

“I have something to tell you” Lucy suddenly says, urgent and firm. Wyatt looks at her, frowning, but nods for her to continue, not daring to speak lest his confession leap off his tongue. She looks down, squeezing his hands slightly, before looking back up at him, tears in her eyes. Wyatt gulps back the fear that boils up in his gut. Something horrid has happened or is going to happen.

“I’m pregnant.” She says, no louder than a whisper. She watches him warily, clutching onto his hands. Wyatt freezes seeing and not seeing her all at once. 

_ Pregnant _ . 

“It’s yours” Lucy quickly says at Wyatt’s stillness, her voice taking a frantic panicked edge to it. That shakes Wyatt out of his thoughts of impending father-dom, of his own childhood, of his own father. He looks at Lucy, really looks at her, and smiles. The fear stripping away at the true realisation that this woman, this marvellous kind beautiful woman, his wife, was having his child. 

He pulls at their hands, laughter rippling out of him as Lucy lets out a surprised gasp. He lets go of her hands and pulls her to him as much as he could. She begins to laugh, and cry, as she wraps her arms around him in turn. 

Wyatt buries his head into her neck, pulling her closer still. Joy. There is no other word for this feeling. It’s a light at the end of the tunnel, it was the foundation of hope, it is the beginning of something new. Joy, pure and simple. 

Pulling back, Wyatt looks down at Lucy with a smile that can not be contained, and with the threat of happy tears in his eyes. Lucy, with hands around Wyatt’s neck, pulls him back in, this time for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet at first, before giving away to a desperate feeling, a recognition of what had come to pass to get here. 

Wyatt can’t help it as he pulls back and looks at her, lips full, eyes bright and hazed. 

“I love you Lucy” 

The words hang in the air before Lucy smiles, somehow even brighter than before. Before Wyatt can close the distance between them, Lucy beats him to it, pulling him in for another kiss. However she retreats before things can take a deeper turn. 

“I love you Wyatt” her voice is quiet yet confident. Wyatt feels his heart may burst at any moment. Lucy then grabs his hand and places it on the barely there bump. He stares at his hand, at her stomach, and then looks back up at her. She bites her lip, barely holding back her own joy. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I completely forgot I said I had another chapter left. So here is a much belated, short, epilogue. Just to wrap a few things up!

It was three days later that Lucy was technically made the head of Rittenhouse, once they found her mother’s body. Carolyn had tried to escape, but the battle was too violent and had descended into chaos, with every Rittenhouse soldier fighting for himself.  Lucy wept deeply; despite all her mother had done to her, she was still her mother. Wyatt held her close throughout it all, gently stroking her head as her tears stained his neck. They could not find her father’s body. 

They did not move into that crumbling castle, nor the forgotten Rittenhouse house that Lucy grew up in. Once Wyatt had recovered, the pair went home and measured their lives,considering their next steps.

The House of Logan, with the remaining wealth of Rittenhouse, was reinstated. Wyatt’s father’s dream had become a reality, and the Logan house was returned to its former glory. Wyatt wasn’t sure what to do. He wasn’t a lord; he was a warrior, a soldier. He didn’t have time (nor the patience) for courts, or the societal politics that usually accompany a lordship. So Wyatt focused on his home, on building his own team of trustworthy men, and on cementing his alliance with Rufus- albeit in a more formal manner. 

Lucy had a gift, however, for running and establishing a household. She flourished with the tasks of setting up a lordship as well as making and running a house of her own. But she did not slip back into the societal life that she knew her mother envisioned for her. The Lady Logan gained a reputation as an incredibly knowledgeable woman, and not one to be overlooked. Lucy continued her notes, interviewing ever more tenants, and getting to know everyone on Logan land. She continued to do so right until her belly swelled and Wyatt patiently asked her to please, for the sake of the unborn child, take a break. 

Rufus and Jiya married in what had to be the grandest affair the country- the continent- had ever seen. The wedding was a week long celebration of love, not only between the couple, but for the entire town. War was over, and love will continue on. The town was decorated in swathes of orange and yellow (Mason had recuperated his love of colour based projects).  The sun shone and a scent of jasmine hung in the air. It was a period of happiness that was sorely needed. 

Happiness continued with Lucy and Wyatt’s first child. 

As much as Wyatt wanted Lucy to stay in bed, wrapped in the softest cotton and with a small army protecting the door, Lucy carried on with her meetings, her dinners, and most of her work right up until the night her water broke. It was the early hours and the sunlight shone a soft orange and pink into the room as little Amelia Logan was born. Wyatt thought his heart would break when he first held her, overflowing with so much love, so much care, for such a small creature.

Wyatt gently sat on the bed next to a quiet Lucy, who simply smiled softly as he lay down next to her, his arms full of the most precious cargo. They looked down at their daughter, and didn’t even try to hold back their smiles, as the baby yawned gently, lips puckering and arms reaching out. Lucy lay her head on Wyatt’s shoulder, tired and worn from the endless hours before, but happy. She’d never been so happy in her life, in this moment as she looks down at her daugher in her husband’s arms, and as that husband gently placed a kiss on her head.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading this! All your comments, feedback, and kudos has been so appreciated. I do genuinely hope you all enjoyed this lil fanfic and can't wait to see the Timeless movie (and all the fanfic it inspires ;) )

**Author's Note:**

> Short I know- but longer stuff is to come! Please like, review, etc.


End file.
